


After Dark

by JeanValJean



Series: The Clandestine Chronicles [1]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Bad Parents, Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, F/M, Good Parents too I guess - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Smoking, that i wont be writing bc while it may be something that happens irl I aint about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-16 01:54:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanValJean/pseuds/JeanValJean
Summary: Derry is a small town; not a lot goes on in the dark that isn't brought to light.





	1. Richie Tozier's Lament

**Author's Note:**

> This literally doesn't have a genre and did not go in the direction I planned... oh well, still having fun.
> 
> SIDE NOTE: I didn't want to flag this as an issue or anything, I can't control free will, but this work should be read with your own image of how the IT kids would look as teenagers. Please do not imagine the 2017 cast whilst reading this, as there have been so many disgusting things about them going around and I would hate to contribute to the spread of harmful material in any way. There is a difference between cast and character.   
> Thank you x

**6 West Broadway Ave, Derry**

**3:02am**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

If there were ever a time he felt lonely, it was at home. Not the lonely you feel on occasion when you haven't seen your friends in a little while and the home phone hasn't rung all day. It's a loneliness that creeps up slowly, before settling low in your stomach and constricting your heart, much like a river snake. It's a loneliness that stays with you, so much so that you feel like the only person alive, even when standing in a crowded room. You could be surrounded by the people you trust the most, your closest friends, yet feel as though there is a glass barricade between you and them, a barricade which teases and taunts for its own pleasure.

But that's just the way it is in the Tozier household. That’s the way it is for the Tozier's son, anyway; the way it has always been, and most likely, the way it will always be. 

Maggie Tozier erupts into a fit of cackling laughter at something completely nonsensical on the television, a quarter-full bottle of white wine nestled gently in her arms like a fragile child, and a half empty glass of water at her feet. She's still in her work uniform; a small-time veterinary nurse by trade, a drunk by practice. Richie Tozier does love his mother, he supposes he has to, but he definitely doesn't like her.

Wentworth Tozier sleeps soundly, his snoring echoing throughout the household. He seems to be angry even when he’s asleep, something that terrifies Richie. Sleep is the only solace he has from the everyday occurrences within his home; if he can’t escape it during the times they should be sleeping, how else will he ever find peace and quiet?

It's far too noisy for the early morning hours - even " _Trashmouth_ " Tozier can agree to that. 

 

_Loudmouth, annoying._

 

_Lazy, tiring, draining._

 

He's somewhat melancholic, resting his chin on the very tips of his knees as he watches over the town from his rooftop, a slight breeze making his smoke-scented web-like curtains billow. He used to do this a lot, back before... _It_ happened. Whatever It was, everything became far more difficult afterward. He'd not been home for three days after they'd defeated It, opting instead to couch surf for a while to allow himself to calm down. He couldn't rely on his parents to help him if he freaked out. Those nightmares changed his life forever. And even though it has been four years since, he still...

His memory is hazy. There was a clown, but he can't imagine it's physical shape anymore. There were a lot of missing children, but he can hardly remember their names. 

No kid should ever have to go though that. Especially not alone. They were together in the end, but when they each encountered It... 

There were a lot of tears. 

Throughout the years leading up to the present day, Bill Denbrough's stutter got worse. He got a summer job to help pay for speech therapy, and he admitted to the group that it made him feel useless, not being able to speak properly. He’d said that not being able to speak was affecting how he thought. He'd said he would never get over Georgie, and he'd never feel completely at peace with the fact that everything in that situation was beyond his control. Bill began to loose his voice, little by little, before they hardly ever heard him speak. Even nowadays, the looks they exchange in the hallways of Derry High seem to falter.

 

_Bill shook his head with a smirk. “You’re so w-w-weird, R-Richie.”_

_“What’ya mean, Big Bill?” Richie asked around a mouthful of raspberry-licorice bullets._

_"You’ve always g-g-got s-something irrelevant to s-say. You’re f-funny b-b-but s-sometimes you n-need to take a breath.”_

" _Yeah,” Stan chimed in, throwing a rock across the pond in front of them. “It’s hard to keep up with you.”_

 

Stan Uris fell into a deep depression, one that had him missing weeks of school at a time; something the "old Stan" never would have done. The last time they, the other Losers, spoke to him was over six months ago. He'd always been an anal retentive, making sure everything was orderly and that he gave himself the best opportunities. But It took that away from him, and in the months leading up to his absence, there wasn't a single person in the whole damn school who didn't notice his un-ironed clothes, unkempt hair, or increasing academic tardiness. Richie remembers the last things they’d spoken about, when the two were still close and not as numb, and love and friendships and potential holiday destinations were the only things they could focus on. Stanley said something about wanting to disappear, but Richie hadn’t taken him seriously.

 

_“I just don’t want to be my parents,” Stan said, after briefly questioning why on earth he’d confide in Richie over Bill. “I like… I like birds, and just sitting around taking everything in. I’m not saying I’m lazy, I just- I just want to live my own life, not theirs. But because I don’t know what ‘my life’ is going to be, they seem to think it's their job to work it out for me.”_

  _Richie thought for a moment. “You ever tell ‘em that?”_

  _Stan snorted. “You’re kidding, right? Were you even listening to what I said? We live in a Synagogue for crying out loud, I was practically born to do as I’m told like it was etched into my birth certificate… sorry, Richie, I shouldn’t bother you with this stuff. Someone like you wouldn’t understand.”_

 

Beverly Marsh moved away four years ago, and for her own good too; she used to write often, but now even Bill is lucky enough to hear from her. She'd gone though a lot, much more than her friends ever really knew about. She'd told Richie a few things here and there, cautious at first of his blabbermouth, but eventually they helped each other. Bev helped Richie learn how to listen, and Richie helped Bev learn how to trust. Had Bev not been completely and utterly in love with Bill, and had Richie been a bad friend, they probably would’ve made a great couple in their senior years. But Bev wanted more than that, and _surely_ , Richie reasons, she deserved more than what he could have offered.

 

_“Why, Richie Tozier, would you be a dear and pass me the popcorn?” Bev asked, batting her eyelids. They hadn’t even started the movie yet, the two of them seated at the very back of the theatre with the largest box of popcorn and their feet propped up on the seats in front of them._

  _“Of course m’lady,” Richie said in his best cockney accent. “Dost thou look forward to this cinematic adventure? Sweating for a dubious climax-“_

  _“Beep beep, Richie.” Bev rolled her eyes, taking a handful of the popcorn and sitting it between them. “And yes, I think it’s going to be just the right amount of gore we need in our lives… come to think of it, did you get that scrape cleaned up alright?”_

  _Scrape, right. He’d dragged his knuckles along the roof of his house, angry about… something. “Yeah, easy fix,” he chuckled. “Ya got a good memory Bev, that one was a few weeks ago.”_

  _“Well I haven’t seen you in forever, you’re not around that much anymore.”_

 

Ben Hanscom focused far too much on his studies now, having little time to hang out; he spoke to them at school or in the streets, but in Richie's eyes, he wasn't a part of the Loser's Club anymore. Or even Derry, for that matter. He'd always just fitted in, but with Bev gone, he'd grown distant. Richie knows he didn't just leave because Bev wasn't with them anymore, but... you can't ever really confirm stuff like that. Richie guesses Ben finds solace in the things he enjoys, rather than dwelling on things of the past; in some respect, it's a sensible thing to do, but in another, maybe he’s simply ignoring the issues he should be facing.

 

_“I could totally build that one day,” Ben said, smiling brightly at Richie. “A huge one, maybe 100ft, and it’d use recycled water.”_

  _Richie laughed heartily. “Hey-hey not bad! World’s largest waterslide, right here in Derry… of course, yours truly would market the place, and get half the profits.”_

  _“No way!”_

 " _Yes, way! Haystack, I’m the brains of this operation,” Richie said in a stage-whisper, while Ben rolled his eyes._

  _“Brains? Who told you that?”_

 

Mike Hanlon was really the only one who hadn't changed. Well, he had, but for the better. Mike is stronger now, physically and mentally, and even though he doesn't attend mainstream school, anyone who speaks to him would think he's already passed through college and has a Ph.D. in something wildly thrilling. Richie, although quiet about it, would always look up to Mike as someone who would always be so much more than he let on. Mike still catches up with everyone, well presumably everyone, but never at the same time. Not because he doesn't want to, simply because they seem to have grown apart, and the universe just doesn't want them together. When he speaks to Richie, its as if there was never any bad blood between them.

 

_“It was your fault! I told you I don’t belong here!” Mike shouted a tone that felt so foreign on his tongue._

  _“It's not my fault! I thought you’d like this place, how was I supposed to know they’d-“_

  _“You’re kidding, aren’t you Richie? No, of course not. God, I can’t believe this. And in front of the other guys too!? All we are in this town are a sick form of entertainment, and you know that! I should’ve listened to the other Losers about you.”_

  _Richie gaped. “About me-“_

  _“Save it. You’re not a victim.”_

 

And there's Eddie Kaspbrak. Eddie who had been tricked his whole life that he was riddled with disease, that he was delicate, that he was fragile; that he was useless. Eddie who cried in Richie's arms on more than one occasion while they single-handedly fought off the monster that the townspeople ignored. Eddie who kept the biggest secret of them all, and watched mortified as two years ago the theatre teacher from their school was lynched on Jackson Street for having a boyfriend and not a girlfriend; murdered in cold blood by people who could be anyone that Eddie knows, or trusts, who don't know or maybe they suspect, that maybe there's something _wrong_  with him too. 

 

_Eddie rolled his eyes, taking a quick breath out of frustration. “It doesn’t matter Richie, can you just- just drop it, okay?”_

  _“No, it’s clearly upset you, Spaghetti Man, why would I drop it-“_

  _“Yeah, of course, sorry. Why would you drop it? You’re not like the others. You’re insensitive, and crude, and you think that everything you say is going to be some magical cure for everyone’s problems, right trashmouth? Well surprise, it's not. God, for once in your life can you just shut up and let people live?”_

 

And then there’s Richie Tozier. Richie who would never admit that he still has nightmares about that hideous creature, manifesting itself into their fears. Richie who has always neglected to say that he is neglected. Richie who acts out for attention, to get some kind of reaction from somebody, anybody, because sometimes he’s not even sure he exists on the same existential plane as everybody else. Richie who has learned to love anybody that he can, if they'll have him, because you can't be picky if you're not picked. Richie who would give his very life for things to go back to the way they were. For Bill to be confident, for Stan to be happy, for Bev to be back again, for Ben to join them again, for Mike to come to their school and knock some sense into them, for Eddie to learn to accept that people love the things he hates about himself.

If only things were the way they were before things got worse as if It didn't happen at all.

"Close the fucking window, there's a draft messin' with the reception!" Maggie called out, knowing that somebody in the house was clearly out to get her and make her night of drunken euphoria a misery. 

Richie closed the window behind him, locking himself out. It's just easier that way. 

Autumn leaves blow gently across the desolate street below, causing Richie to return to reality once again. There's static on his radio know, the one kept by the window at just the right volume to keep him from getting yelled at. That's the only time his folks ever really notice him when he's doing something wrong. They'll shout at him or tell him to go to his room, and then forget about it. There really isn't any better boyfriend-material in Derry, cos Richie is the most independent seventeen-year-old in the entire world. 

Well, he _can_ be. 

He wonders what the rest of them are doing right now. It’s autumn, but not too cold, so chances are they might still be awake, even though that chance is slim. But he hasn’t spoken to them in weeks… he wonders, briefly, what they’d say to him if he were to approach them. Bill probably wouldn’t speak. Not because he didn’t want to but… no, maybe because he didn’t want to. Ben would make a hasty escape, as would Stan too probably, if he ever went outside.

See, that's the thing about Derry. It's a small town, smaller than most, and as soon as one person knows something, you can bet the rest of them find out soon enough.

That's what happened with Henry Bowers. He got sent up to the psych hospital, going on about killer clowns and some kids pushing him into a well. Both were true, all the Losers know that, but would they say anything? Of course not. Even known, distant from one another, there are some things that don’t need to be spoken about. But anyway, as soon as he told his gang about it, the whole story spread like wildfire, and most of Derry knew why he was being removed from school one day and uncontactable the next.

So, it's really no surprise half of Derry has a petition going to send the Losers up to the very same psych ward.

 

_“Henry was a troublesome kid,” one teacher had said, “but I don’t think even he could make up something like that.'_

 

_“Those kids, always hanging around the Barrens,” another commented, “it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re doing satanic things down there… a bunch of misfits without an alibi, it just wouldn’t surprise me.”_

 

Four years ago the citizens of Derry wanted a bunch of thirteen-year-olds sent up to a psych ward, pretty much throwing them to the vicious dog that is Henry Bowers. Four years later, the petition is still around, but the Losers don’t hang around each other anymore, so the people aren’t so worried. No, when they’re alone they’re simply a few lonely teenagers about to be added to some kind of Derry statistic.

Of course, some of their parents dissolved the claims made against their children.

 

_“My son has more taste than to hang around with those people, some in particular who are no doubt the ring leaders of the kids, and mark my words my Eddie won’t be having anything to do with their behaviour any longer,” Ms Kaspbrak had said, a comment which made it into the local paper. “I won’t stand for innocent, impressionable children being led astray by crude, trashy misfits.”_

  _After that, the other five of them were called “monsters.”_

  _Mr Uris added to that with a lovely sentiment too, straight from the heart. “Stanley is a responsible, respectable young man. As the Rabbi’s son, he knows not to go against our teachings nor the ways of the world, and it is with great displeasure that I forbid him from seeing his friends. We are all provided chances of redemption, but if we choose not to take them, then they shall be forced upon us. I only hope that the other children will be led towards a more acceptable path.”_

  _After that, the four of them were called “misguided.”_

  _“We see no reason for our son to be dragged into this. It’s clear that when loving parents have to get involved in childish issues they’re not the ones to blame.” Mr Denbrough held Bill close to him, his grip strong and threatening. “We lost our young son to the town not too long ago, we’re not loosing our eldest to its spawn.”_

  _After that, the three of them were called “disgraceful.”_

  _“He’s always been a troublesome child, but make no mistake, I won’t let my nephew be let astray by hooligans such as these.” Ben’s aunt had snake eyes and a venomous tongue. “Packs of wild dogs are best hunted when the leader is down. There is no other option but to dismantle large groups of teenagers to avoid further heartache for people like the poor Henry Bowers.”_

  _After that, the two of them were called “cruel.”_

  _“You really think a group of trailer-trash like that would just invite one of them into their group? No way. He was pressured, bullied even. There’s been no word from his family but they’re better off staying out where they belong, that’ll keep them safe.” Even activists of equal rights, although scarce, had things to say about the diversity of the Losers. “That young black kid never should’ve been pressured into this. It’s lobbying behaviour, and it’s sick.”_

  _After that, he was deemed a “lost cause.”_

 

Richie remembers many of the words spoken to or about them in those early weeks. They single-handedly saved a town from a diabolical evil, yet were faced with only hatred and slander. With protection from their parents, his friends didn’t have to worry about being hospitalised or serving jail time. And thank god for their parents. Without them, the Losers Club would still include Richie Tozier, and they’d still be seen as a threat to the safety of the community, all because of some stupid kid who couldn’t for once in his life just let kids be kids.

Richie pulls another Marlboro from his pocket, lighting it in a single motion with the lighter Bev left him before abandoning them altogether. It tastes sick on his tongue, the smoke dissipating like a ghost before his eyes after he takes a long drag. It sounds stupid, but smoking is a habit that's probably better for him than the ones he used to have. He would reason that its a lot easier to explain an addiction to nicotine than an addiction to an overwhelming sense of relief that follows a few sessions with a stolen switchblade.

That’s probably why they hated him. He’s an attention-seeker. Anything he says or does is only for his own benefit. That’s what they all say, or at the very least, what they think.

“I don’t understand anymore,” Richie says aloud, blinking up at the stars, and hoping in some fiber of his being that the universe is finally ready to listen to him. “C’mon. There’s gotta be somebody up there who’s willing to give me a go. Please. I’m done. Everything… it’s all different now, and I know you know the reason. So what is it, huh? I’m tired of hearing their voices. I’m tired of seeing their faces. Give me something, anything. Just a sign to tell me what I did w-wrong.” Tears flow gently down Richie’s face, and he takes off his glasses before they fog, setting them down gently beside the lit cigarette he’d reluctantly abandoned. “I don’t want to be like this anymore. I want… something. Please, just give me something.”

 

* * *

 

Routines in the Tozier household do not occur in a similar way every day. But there are factors that always remain.

Wentworth is up first, around 6am, preparing himself two slices of burnt white toast with peanut butter and a cup of coffee. He always drinks two glasses of tap water before leaving the house. He wakes Maggie three times before she actually gets up; sometimes she vomits before she eats breakfast, but usually, she just comes straight to the kitchen and performs the same tasks as her husband. Richie usually waits until both his folks are out of the house before entering the kitchen, especially nowadays. Though none of the town gossips really affected anything.

Wentworth leaves around 7am, Maggie 7:30am. Richie attempts breakfast at 8am during vacation and weekends. He’s out of the house at 6:30am on school days. Today is an 8am breakfast.

If its school, he’ll hang out at the Barrens until 9am and try and stay in classes. If not, he’ll go loiter somewhere people won’t hiss at him. Considering its senior year and everyone knows who the graduating students are, those places are scarcely anywhere but his bedroom and the back corner of the arcade. If its vacation, he’ll pretty much laze about all day pretending to have a busy schedule. His parents are always back home at 8pm. Richie is always in his bedroom at 7pm, just in case.

Once Maggie and Went have both left the house, Richie dares to enter into the kitchen and take a seat at the head of the table. He glances briefly at the newspaper, block letters displaying the cheesy **‘DAILY DERRY** ’ mail slogan and a catchy headline about the lift of the most recent curfew. This one was centered around young children walking home from daycare and being lured into the drug business with promises of candies and pets.

 _What a world_ , Richie thinks, staring at the so-called ‘valiant hero’ who single-handedly busted the leader of the cartel. _Those guys won’t have to be separated - they’ll all go to prison together._

Two bike bells ding outside the front window, causing Richie to look out and see a familiar face. _That’s the worst part,_ Richie reasons. Derry is a small town. Everywhere you turn you see somebody you know, and it’s even worse when there are only so many streets you can take to make it to the town center. Broadway Avenue is a frequent detour for most people; it’s just a shame those people won’t even look at the tiny, broken house anymore. Not like they used to.

From all windows on the south side of the house, Richie can see Eddie’s front lawn. He doesn’t hang around out the front much anymore if he ever use to, but his lack of presence affects Richie the most. _“I won’t stand for innocent, impressionable children being led astray by crude, trashy misfits.”_ Richie. She meant Richie.

Those words ring in his ears like nails scraping down a chalkboard, reminding him that he is the very reason the group isn’t together anymore. It was his fault. All of it was his fault.

And then It happened… of course that happened. But what did Richie do? He made it a joke. Of course he made it a joke. From that, Eddie was nearly killed, Stan was nearly killed, and the seven of them had to face their worst fears in the worst part of town. Six of them, rather. Richie’s worst fear hadn’t come to light until after It was gone. But It was quickly replaced by That. And That wouldn’t go away so easily, because That was a whole situation on its own that the Losers couldn’t deal with alone, but they sure as hell wouldn’t deal with together.

Richie changes into clothes he hadn’t worn for three days straight, and looking in the mirror at the deep bags forming beneath his eyes, natural purple highlights contrasting his pale face, he worries. He worries because the Richie he sees looking back at him is nothing like he remembered himself as. Just like the Bill riding down the street not five minutes ago looked nothing like the Bill he often thought of.

Surely you can’t lose the image of faces imbedded in your brain since childhood… was he going mad?

After brief and alarming contemplation, Richie fishes out some change from yesterday’s pants and makes his way to the front door, ready to head off into the town. It’s a Friday; most people are working, most kids are with their friends. Could he take the main road?

Yes. Yes, he could.

Richie doesn’t bother to lock the front door behind him, knowing damn well there's nothing worth stealing in his house. It's a nice day outside, the autumn chill of the night before having long since obeyed the demanding requests of the Derry sun. It's always warm in Derry, even when it shouldn’t be. He eyes his battered-up bike before having second thoughts and approaching the pavement with mock courage.

Ochre leaves crunch beneath his tattered sneakers as Richie adjusts his glasses to give his surroundings a once-over. His mind reeled slightly before he began to think for himself again.

It’s Friday, he reminds himself. Friday in October. It’s vacation. I’m allowed to walk around my own damn neighbourhood. I’m allowed to go to the arcade, or to the mall. I’m allowed to live.

_But I shouldn’t be._

There are a few neighbours clipping their front lawns or simply enjoying the sunshine. They pay Richie no mind, at least outwardly, and for the first time, Richie is glad to be invisible. Some kids run past him, one slightly brushing his hand, making Richie recoil slightly. He hadn’t felt contact for so long. It sent weird shivers down his spine.

Rounding the corner towards the main road, Richie passes the ice-cream shop he and the other Losers used to frequent.

 

“ _I’ll have-“_

  _“The usual. Yeah Rich, I know. Double-choc and a large shake. Sure you didn't want any water with that?"_

 

There are a few butterflies in Richie’s stomach as he walks past it, daring to look inside, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, they’d be in there, waving him over. They weren’t.

Richie scuffs his feet slightly against the uneven, cracked pavement, before catching a glimpse of a familiar car in a shop window. It's an old-style blue thing, build like a bulldozer, and its parked across the road from the pharmacy. Richie stops in his tracks, noticing an unfortunately familiar face walking into said pharmacy only a few paces ahead of him, guiding another face like a lion on the hunt.

Richie wants to smack himself, but he allows his feet to follow them into the store, barely stopping short of the pair before ducking into the next aisle to pretend to be interested in… women’s hygiene. _Okay, cool. It could be worse._

… _please speak. It doesn’t have to be to me. Just… say something. Anything. I just want to hear your voice._

“You wait here Eddie-bear, I’m just going across the road to the laundromat. I have to swap the soaps again,” Ms Kaspbrak says, and Richie smiles quietly to himself because Eddie once complained about the soaps, not being hypo-allergenic, which is why he washed Richie’s Hawaiian shirt that one time after the Quarry Incident instead of letting him wash it at the laundromat. Richie’s smile dissipates when he realises it was Ms Kaspbrak who instilled that fear into Eddie, not Eddie himself.

“Okay. Should I meet you there-“

_Thank god. Thank GOD. He sounds the same, he’s still Eddie, he’s still-_

“No. You wait here. Don’t move. You can pick out a traveling candy if you want, but only with natural sugars.”

“Yes, mom.”

Richie feels his heart swell. Eddie’s voice, his footsteps, they sound like music to his ears. He hears Eddie move down a few aisles, and, avoiding the pharmacist himself, Richie skilfully follows, before stopping an aisle away and holding his breath. Why would Eddie want to talk to him? This… all of this is his fault. There’s no way Eddie would want to speak to him. And if his mother came back, saw them speaking, hell, saw them standing this close to one another… He couldn’t risk it. All his life he’s been selfish. Has he even learned anything from that?

Richie turns to walk away, not daring to look back as he exists the pharmacist and heads quickly for the arcade. Something aches in his chest, but the recent memory of Eddie’s real-life voice calms him. For some reason, Richie had convinced himself that the Losers didn’t even exist anymore. Somebody who looks and doesn’t look like Bill sometimes drove past his house, but who’s to say that it's actually him? Sometimes a kid who sounds like Ben asks questions from the front of Richie’s English class, but that could be anyone.

Sometimes a voice calls out Richie’s name that sounds just like Eddie, but it never is.

 

“ _Richie_!”

 

Except maybe this time…

_No. It’s still not him._


	2. Synonymous with Misfortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna call this chapter "sorry for the pain" but didn't want to spoil anything..
> 
> TW for slight homophobia, if u read enough into it, and rape is mentioned but it hasn't/won't/didn't happen.

**Main Street Storefront, Derry**

**11:04am**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

A feeling of change is ever-present amongst the Derry children. Years and years of routine and attempting to fill shoes that are worn to the shape of their parents’ feet promote a need for change amongst young hopefuls as they dare to strive for more than the black cloud enveloping the small town can offer. This feeling isn’t lost on Richie, the sensation of pure, unadulterated happiness from the kids surrounding him in the arcade inescapable. He’s still got the top score on Street Fighter, and at eighteen he is not afraid to maintain that title, even from the many potential young rivals who are getting close to beating it but just not close enough.

It’s something to do, something to strive for. Even if it's only small, and somewhat meaningless.

Richie’s mind briefly wanders back to the pharmacist, back to the voice that was definitely real and definitely came from his ex-best friend. He wonders if, maybe, they’ve moved on from what happened. If they’ve all moved on and forgotten about the explicit details of It, and if the adverse affects of That no longer plague them. Or perhaps that is simply what he hopes. He hopes they’ve forgotten, for all intensive purposes, every emotion that they felt during the hard times they spent together. He doesn’t want them to remember, even if it means forgetting him.

 _Yeah. Maybe that would be better._ If they forget, the whole town might forget. But he doesn’t have to stay in Derry his whole life. He’ll finish school and get the fuck out of the damn place.

Richie completes his last planned fight, having a couple of dollars left in change, and leaves the arcade. That blue bulldozer of a car is still parked across the road, a sign that _maybe he should… he could always just… go to the pharmacist again._ After all, he has a few dollars… maybe he could buy something. Like, a pack of gum. Or cigarettes, some cheaper ones.

Or he could go home and avoid a potential shit-show altogether.

Richie’s subconscious makes the decision for him, and he walks determinedly into the pharmacist. He catches a brief glimpse of Eddie’s legs on a chair close to the painkiller section; they’re a little longer than he remembers, but Eddie’s legs nonetheless. Nobody in Derry shows that much leg but Eddie Kaspbrak.

With a deep breath, Richie confidently snatches up a pack of peppermint gum and approaches the left side of the counter, closest to the painkillers. His peripheral vision, although somewhat hindered, sees Eddie shift a little in his seat, and he knows Eddie’s seen him. Richie clears his throat, standing up a little straighter, and reaches out to examine the cartons of cigarettes intensely, probably awkwardly. He can feel Eddie taking him in, watching him as if he has never seen him before. Richie feels slightly self-conscious, slightly anxious.

“I’ll take these if I can,” Richie announces to the pharmacist, not Greta Bowie’s father, he notices, in a voice that sounds unfamiliar. “And a pack of… these.” _Shitty, cheap cigarettes_. But they’ll remind him of the bravest thing he’s done in over a year, so it’s worth it. Hopefully.

As the pharmacist rings him up, after taking an annoyingly slow sip of water, Richie dares to look over at Eddie’s seat. He’s not there anymore. Richie’s heart sinks as he hands over the last of his money, resisting the urge to call out to him. He takes his things and goes to leave the store, feeling a blanket of shame wash over him. Of course, Eddie left. Why the hell would he stay in the same store as Trashmouth Tozier? Nobody is that stupid, especially anyone who associated with him previously. God, it’s all a stupid mess, what the hell is wrong with-

“Richie?”

 

_“-there’s no way I’m doing that.”_

  _“Why not? C’mon Eds, it’ll be fun,” Richie snorts, in a shitty attempt to get Eddie to go to the carnival with him. He’d seen Bowers’ Gang sneak in through a sewer pipe, and figured all the Losers could get in that way, knowing full well some of them couldn’t afford it. “Besides, if people like them can get away with it, surely we can.”_

  _Eddie shook his head quickly. “Nope, no way. Nu-uh. You think I’d voluntarily walk through the shitty water again? Let alone shitty water from portable toilets. Nope. You have got to have some standards-"_

“Richie.”

Richie swallows every ounce of courage he once had, and turns slowly to come face-to-face with Eddie Kaspbrak. Except this Eddie Kaspbrak is… different. He’s taller, for one, and broader than Richie thought he would ever be. His voice is different, but so similar, so soothing. He’s still wearing the same ridiculous clothes he wore when they still hung out. His eyes are still a dark chocolate colour that stare deep into a person’s soul, but outlined by dark, sunken circles. He takes a hesitant step forward, eyes darting briefly around them before returning to Richie’s. He lets out a wheezy, somewhat nervous laugh.

“I think… this might be the first time Richie Tozier hasn’t spoken.”

 _You have no idea how long I haven’t spoken for, Eds_. Richie chuckles, slightly forced. Words really do escape him. “I guess so… Eddie… you’re-“

“No,” Eddie cuts him off, looking around them nervously. “No, I’m not. Don’t- don’t say anything, okay? Just. Ugh… where’ve you been?”

Richie looks at Eddie as if he’s delusional for a brief moment, before swallowing his pride. “At home, mostly. Sometimes hanging around the cafeteria.” _More importantly, where have you been? Are you okay? Are you eating well? Do you see the others? Are you forgiving me? Have you forgotten?_ Richie’s mind reels, searching for something to say. “Yo-you doin’ much?”

Eddie scuffs a foot nervously on the pavement. “A little… mostly just study. I guess I- don’t worry. I’m going to go back now-“

“Ms K?”

“Y-yeah, _her_ … I guess I’ll… I mean… uh, Richie. Maybe… Quarry. Late. Like, late-late.”

Eddie leaves quickly, not even giving Richie the chance to respond or to say goodbye. But Ms Kaspbrak’s fast-approaching figure across the road gives him enough reason to get the fuck out of there too, entering into a jog to get off of the main road before Eddie’s mom started driving on it. She’d surely run him over if she saw him.

As he slows down to a casual walk, Richie can’t help but smile. Eddie spoke to _him_ , not the other way around. His words, ‘quarry… late,’ does that mean he wants to hang out? At the Quarry? Richie can’t help but feel a surge of excitement course through his veins; its an old feeling, a sensation that feels odd, but he loves it. It reminds him of better days, days spent wasting their time down at the Barrens by the smelly shit-hole, or jumping off of the cliff in the Quarry without a single care in the world. They’d meet “late,” just like Eddie said. Somewhere between 7pm and 8pm, during the months the sun stayed out a little longer, and just… live. They’d simply be there, together, doing whatever it is they needed or wanted to do.

Maybe the was Richie’s first mistake. Maybe, all those times in the Barrens when he did whatever he felt like, something slipped.

Even then during the good old days of the Losers Club, things were… different. Not all the time, but enough times that Richie noticed it. After That incident, things would always be somewhat different. They shouldn’t be, but they always would be. That’s the thing about living in Derry; eventually, people move on or forget, but there’s always a feeling that sticks. Richie won’t ever forget. Not ever. But he’s almost positive the others will, and he’ll cling to that hope for the rest of his days.

Another question enters Richie’s fast-paced mind. What if its a joke? Not the kind of jokes Richie used to be known for before the town had another reason to know his name, but the kind of joke that was malicious. Eddie would never, he doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body (at least not a purposefully malicious one), but he might have been set up.

_No, that's stupid._

Besides, he’d said ‘late-late.’ Does that mean after dark? His body longs to have a non-selfish reason to sneak out of the house, bearing in mind walking out the front door doesn’t really count as sneaking, but he liked to pretend.

Richie pops a stick of minty gum into his mouth, pocketing the wrapper, as he turns down West Broadway. There’s a strange chorus in the distance, one that used to bring comfort but now elicits a strange fear, coming from the Synagogue around the corner. Riches mind kindly reminds him that, if there was any person in Derry who hadn't heard about the misfortune that had befallen the Tozier family, it would be Stan. He doesn’t go out much, if at all. Richie could speak to Stan. He could.

But he won’t.

Instead, he moves quickly to his own house, knowing all too well that moments of being able to think before acting had to be taken seriously; they didn’t happen very often. His heart rate drops significantly once in the front door, as the faint smells of alcohol and citronella candles engulf him. It’s deathly quiet inside. There are a few sounds, like the humming of the refrigerator and the creak of the floorboards hidden beneath pale-lime linoleum, but the silence almost drowns that out. Stepping into this house is like stepping into another dimension, one that is desolate and foreboding. But Richie doesn’t mind the silence. Yes, even the loudmouth enjoys silence. Especially when he can enjoy it alone, without fear of judgement or interruption or shame. Even though the outside world may very well welcome him again one day, the world inside his cold house is strangely safer.

But Richie’s thoughts soon return to Stan. Stan who had once been his closest friend, who knew things about him that nobody else would ever know. Stan who had so many insecurities that he put on a brave facade that even had himself fooled on some days. Stan who, although sometimes insensitive, always knew how to help somebody if they needed it. Stan who had been stuck so far within himself that he saw less light than even Richie. Except it was clear that Stan wasn’t capable of seeing that light, not without some kind of help; but he disappeared before anyone could help him. Well, not disappeared. Everyone knew where he was. Its just that nobody bothered to go and see him.

Unless they did. Unless, maybe Stan had been around the whole time, and was just avoiding Richie.

Richie turns on the old radio in his bedroom and throws on a tattered sweater, a strange coldness to the air blowing right through him from the open window. He has to step strategically over mountains of clothes and miscellaneous objects strewn about his bedroom, before collapsing onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. With a soft tune playing on the radio, Richie thinks of Eddie again. No, not Eddie; his mother.

 

_“You’re all deadbeats; I hope the lot of you go to hell.”_

 

Those words sounded so… strange. Especially to the ears of a child. She wanted them to go to hell. All of them, including Richie. At the time, he was thirteen years old. Regardless of what his parents did, which Richie wasn’t aware was public news, Richie had contributed to the loss of a major threat. No, two major threats. But a thirty-something-year-old woman wanted him to go to hell.

If his parents knew why they were being targeted by the town, they didn’t say anything. And perhaps, deep down, Richie didn’t want to know. But whatever happened between the Friday that Maggie and Sonia had lunch while the Losers hung out in the backyard, and the Saturday night that Richie was being removed from a sleepover after a nightmare he couldn’t remember, it tore them all apart.

Richie knows all of this is his fault. He doesn’t know why, or how, all he knows is that it is. It has to be.

The rest of the day goes on slowly, and quietly. Richie moves from his bedroom, to the couch, to the back porch, a few times before eventually decided to perch up on the roof again. The tiles are hot against the bare skin of his legs, exposed by the length of the shorts that were once too big for him. He takes in a deep breath of autumn air, smelling a wood fire burning somewhere, and draws his knees into his chest. From his rooftop, he can just barely see the stained-glass Star of David from the synagogue a block away. He wonders briefly is Stan is in that room, maybe bathed in the colours of the glass reflecting onto the carpet in his father’s study. Maybe… maybe he’s looking out the window too. Or he’s out enjoying the sun. Richie would prefer the latter.

 

_“Weird seeing you all quiet,” Stan said, approaching Richie from behind and taking a seat next to him. It was another bright day at the Quarry, the majority of the losers already having dived into the water below the cliff's edge. Stan had been treated for lice earlier that day and wasn’t allowed to get his hair wet for six hours. Richie didn’t feel like swimming._

_Richie hummed, lost so far in his thoughts he hadn’t realised he was being spoken to by a friend. As Stan sat though, he forced a chuckle. “Yeah, well, I like to dedicate all of my time to my fantasies about your mother.”_

_For once, Stan hadn’t taken the bait. “What’s wrong?” He asked, giving Richie a quizzical look. “You’re never once to chicken out the cliff dive.”_

_Richie snorted. “Chicken out? You’re kidding, right? I can swim circles around you assholes.” He drifts off slightly again. “Besides… water’s cold.”_

_“When has that ever stopped you?”_

_Richie didn’t respond, his mind going weirdly blank again. It’d been doing that a lot lately. He was losing focus all the time and was either too loud or too quiet. He couldn’t please anyone, or himself for that matter. It was like, every now and then someone would pull the blind’s down over his brain; his eyes worked, but his mind just wouldn’t wake up. Stan spoke up again, in the same way, he did whenever he knew something was wrong with his friend’s; like Richie, he had a keen sense for when something was off, he was just better at executing the questions._

_“Richie. You’re allowed to talk to us, y’know, if anything’s bothering you. We’ll listen.”_

_‘Even when she’s here I’m home alone,’ Richie wanted to say. He wanted to tell Stan everything, the whole gutsy truth. He wanted Stan to know that his mother was a self-absorbed alcoholic, who once pretended to care and now doesn’t try. He wanted Stan to know that even though his father lived in the house, he hadn’t actually seen him in months. He wanted Stan to know that no matter how hard he tries to be happy it just doesn’t work because he just isn’t happy, and its easier to fake a smile than to actually smile. He wanted Stan to know that sometimes he just doesn’t feel like being the funny one anymore, and that one day he wants to just be ‘normal’ like the rest of them, but he just can’t do it because then people think somethings wrong with him; he just wants to be quiet sometimes, because his head is never quiet, only ever numb, but surely he can be quiet sometimes to make up for it._

_“I’m fine, Stan, really.” Richie shot him an over-done smile. “I’m just getting into my zen mind to give you shits the best swan dive you’ve ever seen.”_

 

He’d never thought about it that much before, but Richie supposes he’d call Stan his best friend. Or would have called Stan his best friend. There’d aways be Bev, who was more like the annoying sister he never really had, or a cousin that sometimes came over for family events and made them bearable. And of course Eddie, but his feeling’s for him are a little different… how different, he couldn’t really say, but different.

Bill would always be one of his closest friends, even if maybe he wasn’t his friend anymore. He’d been the first person to approach Richie in grade school and invite him to hang out, even though the other kids thought Richie was more a kid to laugh at instead of laugh with. Ben was similar in that way; he invited Richie out to some architect convention a few years back, because he thought Richie would find some of the designs funny. And he was right, there were many dick-shaped design there that Richie found hilarious, while Ben gushed over how incredible and practical the designs were. Of course there was Mike too. He joined the Losers Club late, but there wasn’t anyone in the group who didn’t think he belonged. It’s because he fit so well that Richie couldn’t tell Mike anything; he wanted him to think he was cool, at least a little bit, and no matter how understanding Mike was, or is, Richie didn’t want to burden him with issues that weren’t his own.

So it would have to be Stan. He was always more mature than the rest of them, more sensible. Bit even still, Richie didn’t want him knowing things about him. He’d always been… not secretive, but he didn’t want others to know about his issues. He had made a name for himself within the town and the group; he didn’t want to tarnish his fun-loving reputation with bullshit.

Richie lays beneath the sun for a few hours, hours that pass too fast for him to even register how long he’d been up there. As he notices the street lamps beginning to light, he retreats into his house and packs a small backpack for tonight; a flashlight, water bottle, and the leftover packet of sour patch kids. Its around 7:20pm when Richie fixes himself a bowl of pasta, his first meal of the day. Leaving the pot and strainer in the sink, Richie takes the ketchup-covered pasta up to his bedroom and locks the door behind him. His blood runs faster at the thought of climbing out of his window to visit Eddie tonight. It reminds him of simpler times, times when he was snaking through Eddies window at some ungodly hour of the night to hang out with him alone because Ms Kaspbrak didn’t like Richie there alone. She didn’t like him much at all, really.

But this time… Eddie was also sneaking out. Did he know how? What if he got caught? He’d tell his mother the truth, surely… and then she’s spread more rumours. Richie could see the headline now: **‘TROUBLE CHILD CORRUPTING INNOCENT YOUTH WITH PLANS OF ESCAPE.** ’ It really wouldn’t surprise him.

After a few rounds on his GameBoy, a recycled one he’d got from some yard sale down Witcham Street, he hears his father’s car pull up into the driveway, spluttering away like an old man. Before the front door is even open, another car, this one sounding slightly less like a geriatric asthmatic, pulled up onto the curb, the door slamming behind the woman with brute force. something about the slam jogs his memory; he’d left the walkman just outside the kitchen. Not knowing how long Eddie would be, Richie had planned just to listen to music until he got there, just like old times.

In a hesitant motion, Richie slowly and quietly approaches the living room, spotting his walkman from the corridor. He approaches, less cautious than before, after hearing his parents speaking… civilly. Weirdly civilly. But then he hears his name, and walkman in hand, Richie dares to listen in. It’s a conversation a child, no matter their age should never hear. Richie’s standing in the living room, pressed firmly against the wall to listen in on the conversation emitting from the kitchen; his parents, actually speaking to one another. His mother is sober.

“I just can’t believe it, Went. I trusted her, god fucking knows why, and the cow goes spreading it around,” Maggie says with a sigh. She sounds exhausted. “Two people asked me about it today, two! One even had the balls to ask if I needed a brochure for rehab. If I hadn’t said anything… if I just dropped the little shit off and left, none of this bullshit would be happening.”

Went snorts. “Calm down, Mags. It’s been four years, you know what’s going around now is only run-off gossip. We didn’t do anything wrong-“

“Except keep him. Who cares whether I told her or not? If we didn’t have a kid in the first place… or if we had a daughter, at least. God, everything that's wrong in this fucking house is because of him. Why’d we do it, Went? It didn’t help solve anything.”

Richie hears his father kiss his mother loudly, even around the ringing in his ears.

“Relax. We had our fun, just because we’ve got a kid doesn’t mean we can’t have fun anymore. He’s self-sufficient anyway, ungrateful shit, we don’t need to be around except to pay the school fees. He’s probably not going to college anyway, so whats another few months gonna hurt, huh? Two months, then we kick him out and go back to the good old days.”

Maggie scoffs. “We’ve wasted seventeen years of our lives with that fucker, then he goes and ruins our reputation by being a nutcase. If I’d known that guy was a mental doctor I would’ve even gone in today. Figures don't it. Nice people like us ending up with a whack-job for a kid.”

Richie retreats up to his room, absent-mindedly, and leaves via the window. He doesn’t care how hard he hits the ground, nor about the brief, sharp pain it causes in his ankles. All he cares about is running, as fast as he can, from that fucking house.

 

* * *

 

Richie doesn’t know how much time passes between then and now. All he knows is that Eddie approached him about half an hour ago, the sound of leaves crunching beneath his shoes an announcement of his presence. He showed up in those stupidly short-shorts, and a vibrant sweater that had clearly once been his father’s with a shirt underneath. He’d since shrugged off the sweater, offering it to Richie when he began to shiver a few minutes ago.

They began with distance, and with silence. Eddie didn’t even greet him. Richie couldn’t speak. But then Eddie asked him, “why’re you so quiet?” As if he was somehow offended by it, and the memories of everything Richie had been trying not to hold onto came flooding back, only briefly, before his voice came out like venom through gritted teeth.

“To be completely and utterly alone… for nearly four years… do you even know what that’s like?” Richie asked, his voice unusually quiet.

Eddie swallowed gently, fingers intertwined with the drawstring of his shorts. “I… I know what it’s like for me. But I wouldn’t have a clue what its like for you, Richie.”

 _Richie_. He’d always loved the way Eddie said his name. It was like being woken from a deep sleep like a curse was lifted when Richie was reminded of who he really is, not what people seem to think he is. Or was. With a sharp intake of breath, Eddie places his warm hand on Richie’s leg, daring him to look him in the eyes. Whatever happened between then and now, again something changed, because Eddie seemed to have been gifted with courage he knew he didn’t arrive with.

“I know… I understand you’ve had it tough. Maybe tougher than all of us. And… I guess, I know I should’ve been there for you earlier, and I’m sorry. I know I can’t make up for four years of silence in a single night. I know that. And I know that nothing I say will ever, ever fix anything, but… I want you to know that not a single day has passed where I haven’t thought about you.” Eddie’s voice becomes nasally as a few tears form in his eyes. Richie wants to reach out, to wipe them away and reassure him it’s okay. But he can’t, because its not.“I couldn’t look through my school stuff without finding heaps of your junk in there… pencils I’d lent you that you returned with the ends all chewed, the tape we fixed your glasses with… I’d see those stupid dollar store shirts all around town that just screamed ‘Richie Tozier,’ and the ice-cream place that never seemed to sell any of the peanut butter flavour without you buying it.” Eddie removes his hand, clasping it back with his other one and breaking the eye contact between them, staring out into the distant forest. “In these four years… I’ve seen more of you around than I had when we were still the Losers Club. And I hated it. I hated it because it was never you. I hated it because I knew I could have done something about it but I never did, and I’m so sorry Richie I-“

“Stop,” Richie says, his lips pressing into a firm line as Eddie stares at him. “Just… stop. I don’t want apologies. You guys… you didn’t do anything-“

“And that's the point! We didn’t do anything, Richie, and if we had maybe things would be different now!”

Richie notices the fire in Eddie’s eyes. It's invigorating, fresh. _When did his Eds become so… mature?_

“I threw out my meds.” Eddie’s voice had changed yet again, this time a little more distant. “She cut the placebos after I told her I knew, moved me onto something else. They made me tired, and irritable at first. Then I felt nothing. But somehow… somehow I still felt something when I thought about you. You’ve got no idea how many pills I’ve kept under my tongue just to spit them out up here. This place… it’s not used much for fun anymore.”

Richie takes the chance to take Eddie in. But not the old Eddie. This one is drained, drained of life and vigour. He’s smaller in presence, rather than height. But he’s still pretty short. Richie can see the sullen look of his once tanned, bright skin, and a few accidental bruises and scrapes that the old Eddie would have never dared show anyone, or even received. He was careful. This Eddie, who Richie supposes is the real Eddie Kaspbrak now, seems cautiously reckless; he’s a paradoxical kid who has learned to break the rules without breaking them. But he’s unsatisfied with that.

“A few times… I’ve come up here just to sit. Y’know, just to think. And Bill or Mike have been here. Never two at the same time, but I’ve seen them the most. I think they’ve probably seen me too, but… none of us speak to each other anymore. Its kind of an unspoken rule, I guess. If someones here, move along. Which is… nice. Usually. But when I see them, they’re always looking so miserable.” Eddie looks at Richie once more, his eyes searching Richie’s for something. “Did you know they’re miserable?” He asks, not breaking the eye-contact. “I’ve seen Mike crying before. More than once. And that… it scares me so much, Richie. I stayed and listened for a bit. Three times, actually. And I hate that I did it, but… I heard Bill praying for Georgie once. He asked God why he’d let It come to earth, and for a solid few minutes I didn’t even know what he was talking about, like I’d forgotten.” Richie places an almost hesitant arm around Eddie, already feeling him becoming hysterical. “And- and then I listened once when Mike was here and he was talking to us, as if we were there. Not like he was crazy, but he was asking questions to the sky and then asking us what we thought. He laughed, and then he cried.”

Silence falls between the two, Eddie finally registering the contact between them. Something in the back of his mind dares him to pull away, almost begs him to. But he won’t. He can’t, because this is exactly what he’d been missing all those years he hadn’t seen Richie. But unlike Stan, or Bill, or Mike, he didn’t know where Richie was. He could have guessed, maybe at home or the arcade, but there were never any signs of life when he dared to walk past them. It was like any signs that the Tozier’s existed was taken. Of course, Wentworth’s Dentistry was still operational, but Eddie never saw any clients. His mother even started taking him to a dentist outside of town instead of going there. And Maggie… well, if she still had a job at the Veterinary Clinic she was never seen there. Not that Eddie had a reason to go in anyway.

Richie can feel Eddie’s initial reluctance, but then he leans in closer, in acceptance, and Richie relaxes. He knows he’s thinking, calculating the situation and what may come of it. And Richie wishes he could tell him that none of what he’s thinking will happen, will actually happen. Richie won’t tell his parents. He won’t make him feel guilty, or uncomfortable.

Eddie swallows, hard this time. “It’s my fault. All of this is my fault.”

Richie scoffs. “How is any of this your fault? People grow apart, it just… it just happens-“

“No, no, no, this kind of shit doesn’t happen because people grow apart. This happens because people who think they know what they’re talking about interfering with issues that don’t concern them. That's what happened.”

“… your mom.”

“Yeah… her.” There's a bitterness to Eddie’s words, one that had always been present but never that noticeable when talking about his mother. “That night… everything was off, weird somehow. The very fact that she let a girl, let alone Beverly Marsh, into the house was weird enough. It was like… it was like she was looking to start something.”

“Why though? We were- are kids.” Richie sighs, noticing that he still had his arm around Eddie’s shoulder. It’s warm. “Your mom’s a psycho, no offense, but there’s no way she’d be trying to pick a fight with kids, right? That’s so… fucking petty. And then to go around spreading rumours about us, about me. I’m not a crack kid! I’m not! But now I can’t even walk past the fucking pharmacist without getting weird looks from people I don’t even fucking know.”

“I’m sorry, Rich-“

“Stop saying you’re sorry! Its not helping anything!” Richie yells, now standing to his feet. Even when Eddie stands, in preparation to defend himself, Richie still towers over him. “I don’t want apologies! I don’t- I don’t know what I want, but its not this. I want things to go back to the way they were, and I wanna hang out with people who actually like me, and I wanna be able to walk through my own town, hell, even my own fucking house, without being stared at like a piece of garbage! You think you’ve got it bad being a homo!? Try being the fucked-up son of a stoner who supposedly tried to kill the town’s most notorious bully, and then forced his “boyfriend” to bathe in the blood, because guess what? That's apparently what I fucking did-“

“Richie-“

“-Oh wait, how about the time I got raped by Patrick Hockstetter and then wrote about how much I liked it outside the Falcon after a round of shotgunning used needles? Yeah, because that sure fucking happened, right!? You’ve got no idea what I’m goin’ through Eds, and you know what? Maybe it is your fault. Maybe you should be apologising. But what the fuck good is it gonna do, huh? Nothing, absolutely nothing! Bill’s a social recluse, Stan’s suicidal, Ben can’t even fucking look at me- what’s your excuse, huh? Your mother, is that it? Is she gonna be your go-to excuse for everything? I-“

“Shut the fuck up Richie!” Eddie shouts, shoving Richie so hard that he falls to the ground. Richie’s heart rate quickens, and flashes of red appear briefly before his eyes. “You don’t know shit, so shut the fuck up! Living in this shit-hole of a town makes it really fucking difficult to tell people how you feel, especially if they’re marginalised. You think we wanted to ignore you!? Of course not, but when there’s only one place in the whole damn town where people can speak freely, and now it’s monitored 24/7 by homophobic, racist cops, you’ll find its pretty fucking hard to do.”

“Oh for fuck's sake, there’s always some kind of excuse isn’t there, huh? God, I hate you-“

“Well, I fucking love you!" Eddie's voice cracks, his hands now balled into shaky fists at his sides. "I loved you, since the very first moment you spoke to me after I got pushed over by Henry Bowers in grade school. I loved you even when you were annoying. I loved you even when I was told how bad and wrong and sick it is to be a man and love another man. I loved you through all of that, and through everything that's happened since. And if I were any less in love with you I'd tell you to fuck right off, but I can't do that. I can't do that because no matter how much I try to convince myself I couldn't stand to be with someone you, I just can't. So you can stand here and call me a homo, or make me feel like shit for not having spoken to you sooner, or whatever the hell you want to do, and I’ll just take it.” Eddie takes two brave, confident steps forward as Richie stands to his feet. “C’mon Richie. Do it. Shove me. Yell at me. Tell me you hate me again, and that you never want to see me again; give me some fucking reason to leave you behind here on your dirty ass, because no matter what anyone says I can’t think of a reason on my own.”

Richie’s whole world begins to spin, slowly shattering around him like fragments of glass from a smashed window. ‘I know what it’s like for me. But I wouldn’t have a clue what its like for you, Richie.’ Those words ring in his ears as Eddie stands tall, his breathing rapid and his eyes challenging. As Richie goes to speak, to say whatever the hell will tumble from his lips, only a sob escapes him. It’s loud, echoing throughout the whole Quarry. Eddie steps back in awe, watching as Richie stumbles to the ground in a fit of tears, sobbing recklessly over jumbled, ‘I’m sorry’s,’ and, ‘fuck, shit, I cant’s.’

Tears fall slowly from Eddie’s own eyes as he kneels down beside Richie, placing a confident hand on his shaking shoulder. Maybe Mike was right, Eddie thinks. Maybe this is what had to happen. Richie dares to lift his head, staring teary-eyed at Eddie, who feels his heart shatter at the sight, in complete and utter sorrow.

“Eds,” He whimpers, reaching out to place a hand on Eddie’s leg. “I’m so sorry you have to love someone like me.”


	3. Unsteady

**120 Kansas Street, Derry**

**2:08pm**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

Derry is an oddly bright, cheerful-looking town. It appears as a beacon of hope for some other towns in Maine, as it seems to sing no matter how many hardships it faces. Derry is much like a resilient child, still begging for more after over-eating sweets at a birthday party. It’s usually sunny outside, even during the colder months; it isn’t until the very middle of winter that the chill really sets in, the chill that is far more a sign of what happens in Derry than the misleadingly sunshine.

Richie sits on the curb near the Costello Avenue Market, picking at the dead skin on his hand to try and distract himself from the stares he feels he’s getting. Fourteen days had passed since he and Eddie fought. _Again_. Richie remembers hugging him for a long time, listening to his steady chant of, “it’s okay, you’re okay,” and feeling the warmth of his soft hands rubbing his back and shoulders. Eddie promised he wouldn’t abandon him again. But Eddie couldn’t see him, not all the time. And Richie suggests to himself, in that bitter way that he sometimes does, that it’s because he didn’t tell Eddie he loved him back. He wanted to, in the heat of the moment, but he just wasn’t sure that he did.

Of course, he loved Eddie, but maybe… not the way Eddie loved him. But he couldn’t be sure. Not yet.

And he wouldn’t want to tarnish Eddie’s reputation; just by hanging out with him today, no matter how far away they’re going, there’s still a risk. Richie promised Eddie, all those years ago, that he would never do anything that would risk Eddie being found out. Nobody was supposed to know about his… preferences. Nobody. And yet Richie found out, and he promised on his life that he wouldn’t ever let it slip.

But somewhere amongst the promises and the guilt and the fear, Richie realised something about himself. Something that, had he not found out about Eddie being a homosexual, maybe never would have surfaced in a relatively positive light. Richie had always known there was something about him that he didn’t think others could quite relate to. Besides the overwhelming need to be funny and his occasional outbursts of anger that would probably, one day, cost him his life, he also has this weird fascination with people. As in, girls and boys. And this fascination was different to the kind you’d have with your favourite movie or sports team; this fascination concluded with Richie understanding that he liked boys and girls in the same way most guys liked girls. It wasn’t gay, but he was sure there was a term for it. There had to be. And before That incident, the one that has played freshly in Richie’s mind since he and Eddie last spoke, he probably would have searched high and low for that term, or at the very least, somebody who could relate.

 _Can you truly love someone if you don’t love them completely? Or if you’re afraid of loving them?_ Richie ponders these questions for a moment, wondering exactly what it is about Eddie that he doesn’t like, but… there really isn’t anything. And maybe that's okay. Friends tell each other they love one another all the time. Well, girl friends do anyway. Why the hell is it so weird or unnatural for a guy to tell another guy he loves him? It isn’t. And if it is, it fucking shouldn’t be.

Richie’s hands ball into fists at his side, nails digging into the palms. Another thought ticks over briefly in his mind, a somewhat alarming thought, which reminds him that there is, in fact, something he doesn’t like about Eddie. He tries to please everyone, and in doing that, hurts a lot of people. Including himself.

Richie remembers the day Eddie got his part-time job; the first decision he’d ever made that was purely to please himself, and nobody else. That was just a little over four years ago now, when Eddie decided he wanted to be more independent. Richie suggested leaving the house without his mother knowing he was leaving was a good start, but Eddie took a more adult approach. He and the other Losers rode to the local grocery store, across the road from the pharmacy, while Eddie handed in the resume the group had written together. It was mostly Ben who wrote it though, having already helped his cousin with a resume no less than two months prior. Regardless, two days later Eddie got a phone call asking him to come in; a week passed and before he knew it, he was a certified register operator.

At first he stuck to the rules like crazy. He was always early for a shift even after school, ironed his own uniform, helped every old person out to their car if they were struggling. He was a model employee, and all the Losers had seen him in action. In fact, a few times Richie heard customers leaving the store talking about the, “short, attractive young man with a huge smile.” They would talk about how they only shopped on a Tuesday when he was working. Or how he treated them like family. Or how they wrote a letter to the store manager congratulating them on their fantastic choice of employee.

As far as Richie knows, Eddie still has that job. And he’s probably still a model employee. He probably trains the newbies, covers shifts for people without a second thought, pays for people’s shopping if they can’t afford it… even if Richie had a job, no matter how much of a “people person” he is, he could never be as accepting and loveable as Eddie. Eddie has always had this… weird ability to get along with people. So does Richie, obviously. He can talk to just about anyone as if they’ve known each other for years. But Eddie, putting aside his weird hypochondria, makes people feel loved, rather than just comfortable. Richie is good for conversation. Eddie is good for company.

Maybe that's why they differ so much. Richie enjoys talking and having a laugh, while Eddie enjoys all aspects of quality company… why did Richie ever think he could give that to Eddie? Or to any of the Losers, really.

Richie is brought away from his thoughts by a sharp, “ _psst_ ,” causing him to glance around warily until meeting the soft brown eyes peering out from a stall behind him. Eddie beckons Richie to come over, and he does, making sure nobody is watching before joining the shorter guy down the street. This is real. This is happening. He’s almost running to meet him.

“Hey,” Richie says, breathlessly.

Eddie smiles. “Hi.” Yes, he honest-to-god smiles at Richie, like he’s _happy_ to see him. “Have you got everything?”

Richie swallows, mentally feeling around in his pockets; cigarettes, empty wallet, gum. Right, far away from the main streets of Derry. That’s the only way they can hang out. They both feel like fugitives. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Yeah, good. Great.”

They’re walking now, side-by-side as they would have done years ago. Except now they’re looking out for people, not clowns or balloons or bullies. Richie takes the time to revel in Eddie’s presence, subtly taking in his appearance. He’s wearing faded blue shirt that is slightly worn, yet still a little tight around his chest. His shorts aren’t as short as they once would have been, and Richie concludes that being a little over, what… 5’3? 5’4? Whatever his height, they probably counted those short-shorts as underwear. Eddie’s hair is the same, and his eyes still sparkle. But his face is tired. Not exhausted, like Stan used to look, but… tired.

Eddie’s arm bumps Richie’s every now and then, and the contact is electric.

“I’ve got some snacks and a bottle of soda in my backpack,” Eddie starts, watching his feet in an attempt to distract himself from Richie’s staring. Eddie doesn’t think Richie knows he knows, and he doesn’t want to make him aware. After all, they’re probably both doing the same thing. Eddie had stood behind the store for ten minutes just watching Richie. He knew he’d be wearing some dumb patterned or witty shirt and pants that never suited him, like those stupid ripped jeans. And his hair always had flyaway’s and split ends, no matter how much care he took. He would always be the same Richie that Eddie adored. “And some money too, in case we want to… do… stuff.”

Richie snorts. “Do… ‘stuff’? Very specific, Eds. What stuff did you have in mind? Anything I can help with?” He winks, causing Eddie to flush.

“Sh-shut up, Richie!” Eddie stammers, embarrassed. For a moment, its as if nothing ever changed. For a moment, he’s the old Eddie. He’s 13 year old Eddie who hated nicknames and wanted only to be held by Richie Tozier for a few seconds longer when they hugged goodbye at the end of a day out. But he’s not. He’s 17 year old Eddie, who confessed his love for Richie on accident a few days ago, and will do everything in his power to avoid bringing it up, because he can’t. He is not allowed to love Richie. He has to find a girl to invite to prom. He has to bring a girl home to meet his mother one day. He has to marry a girl one day. (But God does he miss the way Richie would hold him). “I meant if we wanted to see a movie, or something, asshole. Later though.”

Right, later. Richie reasons that it's for the best they aren’t seen together. “Yeah, sounds good.” _Say something, break the ice._ “You mom really letting you stay out all day?’

Eddie rolls his eyes. “She still hovers over me like a wasp, but from a distance… I think she’s realised now that she can’t have me forever, and if she wants me forever, she needs to let go for a while.” Something about Eddie’s expression goes grim, but it lasts only a brief second. Richie notices though. Of course he does. “I, uh. I threatened to leave, a while ago. She didn’t like that. We’ve reasoned with each other a bit, so as long as I’m home before 11pm and I’m there when she wakes up in the morning, she’s reasonably happy.”

“Are you?”

They both stop momentarily, Richie cursing himself for his mile-a-minute mouth, and Eddie wondering why he wants to tell Richie the truth without hesitation. Instead, he clears his throat and the two begin walking again. “Am I… what?” He dares to ask.

 _Happy_ , Richie wants to finish. _Are you happy, Eddie?_

“Don’t worry,” Richie says with a snort. “Slip of the tongue. Anyway, where to Captain?”

Eddie casts him a quizzical look, but he doesn’t press the issue any farther. Richie doesn’t spill his mind so easily. “I was thinking the Barrens maybe, or the old train yard.”

“You wanna go to the train yard? Of your own free will?”

Scoffing, Eddie kicks a rock as they turn down an unnamed street, the sign having long-since been overtaken by creeping vines. “I’m not a scared little kid anymore, Rich. The things I’ve- the things we’ve seen and gone through… the train yard is a walk in the park.” A few moments pass, as the internal, monotonous gears in Eddie’s mind turn. “Is that really how you see me?”

Richie ponders the question for a moment, his thoughts briefly stolen by a brush of Eddie’s arm against his own. Again. He sniffs. “I don’t really understand, Eds. What do you mean, ‘how you I see you,’?”

“I mean, just…” Eddie trails off, his mind reeling. Suddenly, they’re 13 again, and Richie is walking Eddie home from a scary game of hide-and-go-seek at the train yard. They’re holding hands, Eddie scared out of his wits but having held in the fear for too long. Richie understood though. He always understood. But something caught Eddie’s eye; a woman, peering at them from across the street. His mother had talked about her, the woman with long hair and velvet dresses, who had taught all of the women at her work how there was a homosexual disease spreading amongst the children. She’d said it was becoming more common, a result of a lack of motherly presence, but there were places of good will who could cure it. Mrs Kaspbrak had seen something within Eddie that he couldn’t see himself. She threatened that place, and it was the woman in velvet who suggested it, having lost her own son to the disease only six months prior.

Eddie swallows. “Let's walk a bit faster.”

“Eddie-“

“Just drop it!” Eddie shouts, his eyes suddenly burning like flames. Richie’s nerves twitch at the sight, and the sound. Too familiar. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I know how you get sometimes. Just forget I said anything.”

 _What the actual fuck?_ Richie pulls a face, jogging to catch up to Eddie who is now power-walking through the field of long-grass. “Eddie! Eds, what the hell just happened? You can stop treating me like shit now, man, we’re pretty far out now-“

Eddie shakes his head, colour draining quickly from his face. “No, not far. Too close. We’re too close.”

“Seriously? I already feel like shit but you’re still afraid to be seen with me? What, you want a distance measurement? That fucking hurts, Eddie-“

“Shut up, Richie!”

“10 meters? 20 meters? Shit, how about a whole fucking yard! That’s not too close, is it Eds, huh? Far enough for you? Don’t wanna catch germs from a Tozier, yeah I get it, the whole of Derry feels the same way, its not just you-“

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. “Richie, fucking please-“

“No!” Richie shouts, causing Eddie to stop and turn to face him. There’s a new, unspoken fear between them now, like a shadow. “Tell me what the hell your problem is! Did you seriously take me all the way out here just to make me feel like dirt? Were you put up to this? Have you been playing me the whole fucking time-“

“Shut up!” Eddie shouts, now storming towards Richie to shove him hard to the ground. “Shut up! Just shut-"

 

_“-the fuck up Richie!”_

  _“Please! No!” He banged his fists against the toilet door, tears streaming down his face in rage and fear as they already began to swell and bruise at the wrist. “Please! Let me out! Mom! Dad!”_

  _“No! Sit in there and shut the fuck up! God, you’re insufferable!” Wentworth called to him, his voice seething with bitterness. Maggie didn’t say anything, even as Richie continued to beg and cry and plead for his parents to let him out. He screamed and shouted and threw himself against the walls of the tiny cubicle, in hopes that his fruitless attempts might do something. They didn’t._

  _Richie lent against the toilet door, sliding down until he was cowering beside it like a kicked puppy. He hated the toilet. It was the second one in the house; a tiny, standalone space that heated faster than any other room. But when it was locked from the outside? Richie didn’t hate it; he was terrified of it. There was no escape, and he couldn’t rely on his parents to let him out on time. Usually, they forget about him after they locked him up, until he made noise again, which only made them angrier._

  _Richie thought the walls caved in around him like the room spun and thousands of ringing-bugs made nests in his head, driving him insane. It was a ringing in his ears that always started and finished because of his parents. Sometimes he tasted blood. Sometimes he just saw it._

 " _I didn’t mean to,” Richie whimpered, wiping his face with his drenched sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. It’s always my fault. I didn’t mean it, I swear. Please… please let me out. I’ll be good. I promise. Mom… dad… please. Fucking please!” A bang. “Let me the fuck out!” Another bang. “Get me the fuck out of here!” Two fists, bloody and bruised, banging and staining the toilet door and surrounding walls as he screamed, “get me out of here you fucks! I hate it! I hate you! Do you hear me, I fucking hate you! You did this! You did this to me! Fuck off! Just fucking let me out please, I promise I’ll be good! I’ll shut up! Please! Please-“_

 

“Please… Richie.”

There’s blood. There’s heat. There’s ringing. One thousand ringing-bugs buzzing around their hive in Richie’s ears, causing his vision to blur and his body to go numb. He can barely make out what Eddie’s saying. All he knows is that it was Eddie’s hands that shoved him to the ground. It was Eddie’s fist against his cheek once. Then twice. Then three times, hard and painful and angry.

It was Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s healing hands, that hurt him. And they meant to. They fucking meant to.

Richie can’t stop himself. He knows the words he says will hurt, but he wants them to. Something inside of him, that evil his parents always mention, it wants to hurt Eddie. And for once, Richie agrees with it. He sits up, hurting all over as Eddie tries desperately to help him up. Richie slaps his hands away, locking eyes with Eddie with newfound fury.

“Why do you hurt people?”

But he couldn’t. He could never hurt Eddie.

“What?”

Richie stares at Eddie for a moment, watching the tears in his eyes slowly diminish, and the flush on his cheeks begin to disappear. “Why do you hurt people?” Richie asks again. “You made Ben feel bad for sneezing in the cinema. You made Stan cry by pointing out his stupid sweater in summer. You laughed at Mike for not wanting to eat meat. You-“

“Richie-“

“-You made fun of Bill’s stutter-“

“Richie, that was you-“

“Stop!” Richie shouts, pushing himself away from Eddie and standing, breathing heavily. “Stop lying to me! You always lie to me! And you lied to Bev, telling her you’d always be there for her but leaving as soon as we won! You did that! Why would you do that!?”

Eddie stares, gobsmacked. In an instant, he was no longer standing with Richie Tozier. He was standing with someone who didn’t even know who he was. He takes a deep breath, his adrenaline-filled mind attempting to work out… whatever the hell is happening. He swallows. “Richie. I want you to sit down.” Eddie’s voice is calm and soft. Richie listens immediately, his brain somewhat confused. Eddie isn’t yelling at him. “Now, I want you to take three deep breaths. Five seconds in, five seconds holding, and five seconds out. Okay? Let's do it together.”

They breathe together. Richie feels different now. Eddie didn’t yell at him. Eddie didn’t beat him. Eddie didn’t hurt him; he would never hurt anyone. They both open their eyes, looking at one another. Light returns to Richie’s eyes. Eddie smiles at him. “Are you okay?” He asks, not daring to move just yet.

Richie nods. “I’m okay… I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For just… being _me_.”

 

* * *

 

Some would tell you that you are a product of your parents. Richie would disagree with this statement.

While he may drink, he isn’t an alcoholic. While he may swear, he isn’t abusive. While he does enjoy fooling around, he isn’t an idiot. While he does enjoy take out, he isn’t a slob.

While he may be a Tozier, he isn’t a disease.

If Richie had been told four years ago that he’d grow up to be the most hated and avoided teenager in Derry, or even the whole of Maine, he would’ve laughed. He knew that a few people didn’t like him, namely teachers who he didn’t listen to and students who had to work to get the good grades he just came out with, but the whole town? Never. He was endearing, as he’d been told by all the old ladies down by the bakery. They loved his jokes and his friendliness; one of them even told him she thought he’d grow up to be a radio host. And he believed her, too. Everyone thought she was a psychic or a gypsy or something cool, so of course he believed her.

But then the rumours began. They stared as schoolyard gossip; a result of a mother with too much time on her hands, more worried about her son catching a cold than being bullied because of her overbearing nature. Richie would listen as Eddie was taunted in the hallway for being a ‘sissy’ or a ‘fag,’ or that he had stunted growth because Mrs K had sat on him as a child (which actually made Richie laugh, but he’d never admit to it).

It was the last day of their freshman year at high school, and it had felt like only minutes since the Losers had defeated their worst fears in living form. Even Mike and Bev were allowed to sleep over, after some convincing from Eddie to Mrs Kaspbrak that they’d set up separate mattresses on the living room floor and that they wouldn’t eat anything sugary after 10pm. But she’d not been giving daggers to Mike and Bev that night; they were reserved only for Richie.

Since the day prior, when the Losers were helping Eddie set up the backyard pool-slide (safety-proofed by Mrs K herself), Richie’s mom and Mrs K had been talking over coffee. One minute they were laughing, and the next, they were silent. Deathly silent. Mrs Kaspbrak kept looking over at Richie. Then she’d say something to his mother, take a sip of ice cold water, and they’d both look back at him.

When Maggie and Richie left in the late afternoon, Richie watched the way Mrs K looked her up and down like she was pure filth. He also watched the way she looked at him with pure hatred, barely sparking them both a “good night” before slamming the front door in their faces.

Maggie said nothing on the drive back to their house. She didn’t even look at Richie, not once. Not to comment on the state of his clothes, to tell him to shower, to tell him she would be going out tonight and he had to fend for himself. She simply drove, dropped him at the end of the driveway, and drove away. He was alone for the rest of the night, too busy packing for the following night to spend with the Losers, but not busy enough to banish the hatred in Mrs Kaspbrak’s eyes from his mind.

“Richie! Get down here!” Maggie calls, causing Richie to jolt as he’s brought back to reality. He makes his way hurriedly into the kitchen. His mother is sweating, clearly flustered. “I’m going interstate for a while, Went left yesterday and needs assistance.”

Richie nods. “Okay.”

“Don’t trash anything. Don’t go into town. Don’t fuck up.” Maggie points an accusing finger at Richie. “And make sure the place is clean when we get back.”

“When will you be back?”

Maggie scoffs. “Does it matter if you’re going to behave? God, always have to ask questions, don’t you? I don’t know. Stop being ungrateful.”

Richie swallows. “Okay. Sorry.”

Maggie slams the door behind her, and Richie watches from the living room window until she’s pulled out of the driveway, headlights on high beam to see in the dark, before letting out a breath of relief. For what, he’s not entirely sure, but his limbs regain feeling at the sight of the family car driving away from the house and not towards it. He can be alone for a while. He can be himself for a while, maybe for the first time in four years. His fathers “business trips” usually last a week or even two weeks, which gives him time.

A word from the past enters his mind, the word ‘discipline.’ It was the answers to his parents’ prayers and the beginning of an era of torture for Richie. But that didn’t matter because his parents won’t be around for at least a week. Richie won’t be disciplined. He can be himself.

 _‘Don’t trash anything,’_ his mother said. But he could trash whatever he wants and get away with it. He could tear apart the whole living room with scissors and just run away, and never get caught.

 _‘Don’t go into town,_ ’ she’d said. But he could go. He could. Who would stop him? It’s not like they ever cared before, so why would it matter? He could go right now, right in the middle of the night, and graffiti his name all over the Paul Bunyan statue and not get his ass beat for it.

 _‘Don’t fuck up,’_ is a little more difficult though. He fucked up all the time. How could he fuck up so bad that getting away with it would feel good? How could he fuck up so bad that not getting punished would feel like ecstasy?

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

 

Richie spins around, briefly startled, briefly thinking that he had been speaking out loud and his parents were home and his dad had his belt out. But it was just the door. Who the hell visits the Tozier’s anymore? Richie wonders, bracing himself for something gross to be thrown in his face again as he goes to the door and hesitantly opens it. He’s barely got the thing open before a crushing weight falls through the doorframe and slams the door shut, leaning against it as he puffs breathlessly.

“Eddie!? What the hell, man?” Richie says, dumbfounded. He lets Eddie catch his breath, standing there and just… staring at him. This is either a very strange coincidence or the universe giving him permission to fuck up really bad.

Eddie wheezes a few times before smiling at Richie. “She caught me sneaking out. I just ran. I… knew you’d be home.”

Richie raises his eyebrows. “Wow. I’m harbouring a fugitive, huh.”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. Can I, uh… sit down?”

They both move hastily, awkwardly, to the couches in the living room. Richie can barely take his eyes off of Eddie, who had run to his house from a few blocks away in his pyjamas. Without shoes. With wet hair. On a cold night.

Eddie takes a breath. “I wanted to talk to you about the other day.”

Richie bites his lip. _No bullshit, Tozier. Not tonight._ “Okay.”

“At the train yard… it was like you’d completely forgotten who you were. Or the difference between what you’ve said and what others have said, and…” Eddie licks his lips, slightly distractingly. “At first it freaked me out, but… I get it. I-Its happened to me before. A while ago, but it happened. And I still don’t really understand why, but its okay, because its normal between the six of us. You’re not weird. I thought you’d need to know that, maybe then- maybe then things wouldn’t be as weird between us.”

Richie clears his throat, his mother's words ringing in his ears, challenging him. _Don’t fuck up_. “That’s not why its weird,” Richie says, causing Eddie to sit up a little. They’re on the same couch, and it feels like something is pulling them towards one another. “It’s a weird thing, but… it's not the thing we should be taking about.”

Eddie swallows, looking Richie up and down. “Is it something that we should really be… talking about?”

Richie shuffles toward him more, placing a daring hand on his leg. “I don’t think there are words to help this kind of situation, Eddie. I think… I think we both-“

Eddie’s lips colliding with his interrupts Richie’s sentence, and they both melt into each other immediately. They hold it for as long as they can before Eddie pulls back for air, but he comes back in almost as quickly as he pulled away. Between kisses, Richie says, “Eddie… I know… this is weird… but… it’s been a… long time… and… I think… that… makes it better.”

“I know,” Eddie says, pressing a wet kiss to Richie’s neck. “I know. And I’m sorry I know. I wish we were doing this under better circumstances.”

 _Another kiss._ “What do you mean?” Richie asks.

 _Another kiss_. “Just what I said. I wish… I wish we’d done this more when thins were good,” Eddie sighs. _Another kiss._ “I loved you for a really long time. I never stopped. No matter what anyone said, no matter what I did or didn't do, I never stopped loving you. I don't think I ever could.”

“Me too, Eds.” _Another kiss._ “Me too.”

Eddie cups Richie’s head in his hands. Without them realising, they both had gentle tears rolling down their faces. “I’m so sorry, Richie,” Eddie says, voice shaking slightly. “I’m sorry for everything. You didn’t… you didn’t deserve any of the shit you’ve gone through. And I should’ve said something, but… I was scared. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“Shh.” Richie presses a finger to Eddie’s lips. “Forget it. It’s not important. I’m alive, aren’t I?”

Eddie glances down towards Richie’s arms, on display without his knowing, and Richie follows the direction of his gaze. “Barely,” Eddie says, looking away from the pain. “But I’m not going to let this… any of this keep happening to you. I’m not scared anymore. This town… this whole place can go fuck itself.”

Richie snorts. “Maybe it’s inappropriate, but… maybe we can save fucking the town for another night, and focus on… something else, for now.”

Eddie laughs, pure and real. "Very inappropriate, but... I can't say I'll fight you on it. I want to be more like you, and just be myself and not give a fuck what anyone else thinks."

 _But that's where you're wrong, Eddie my dear._ "Not giving a fuck, huh." _I care more than you'll ever know about what people think of me_. "I like it."

Richie doesn't bother leading Eddie to the bedroom. He doesn't bother trying to impress him, or to talk himself up, or to make the experience romantic. Unlike their first time, back when they were too young and too reckless, but driven only by pure love, this is driven by something more. And it's not just Richie who feels this way. For Richie's heartbreak, it's Eddie's longing. For Richie's pain, it's Eddie's internal monologue telling him he's sick. For every tear, a scar. For every swear, a moment. For every feeling, an emotion. 

This isn't love. This isn't lust.

This is revenge.

_And it hurts._


	4. Eddie's Interlude

**87 Kansas Street, Derry**

**11:03am**

 

**September 1988**

 

 

Eddie would often argue with himself that he has a good life. Unlike the other Losers, Eddie was never forced into things he didn’t want to do, he never had to deal with parental neglect, and his mother was always there for him. Always. And maybe that is where his counter-argument lies, the fact that she would protect him from anything and everything, neglecting to understand that maybe Eddie needed to hurt sometimes in order to understand the real dangers of the world.

There were, and always will be, times in Eddie’s life when his mind is sick, and his mother can’t help him. And it’s not the apparent sicknesses that his body has, but a sickness that actually exists; and it’s toxic. Somedays it can take him over an hour to wake up in the morning, having been unable to sleep. Somedays he wants nothing more than to stare at a wall with absolutely nothing going through his mind. And for some reason, regardless of her self-proclaimed wisdom, Mrs Kaspbrak could never identify this sickness, nor could she help when it developed, as it so often did.

But other people could. People like Ben, Bill, and even Stan.

Once, when Eddie’s mother was at work, Ben came over with some caramel-cake biscuits. It was the first time Eddie had spoken to one of the Losers in three weeks, since… since It was defeated.

 

_“You looked pretty sad at lunch today,” Ben said, standing on Eddie’s porch. “So… I brought these from home. My aunt makes them when she’s feeling depressed, and I know it's not a good habit to get into, but I figured maybe you could use some comfort food.”_

  _Eddie smiled, almost missing the way Ben gleamed with pride as he handed Eddie the container. “Thanks, Ben. That’s really nice of you.”_

  _“It’s no big deal. I figured since it's a Friday you wouldn’t want to spend the weekend without a few snacks.” Ben’s chuckle was somewhat awkward, but Eddie appreciated the attempt at humour. Ben would never do it like Richie though. “I’ll, uh. Get going now. Have a good weekend, Eddie.”_

  _Guess we’re not going anywhere tomorrow, Eddie thought. “Yeah, you too. Thanks again.”_

 

Eddie was so grateful for Ben that day. Even though he wasn’t the best at comforting people, he still cared about his friends. Eddie reasons that, living with the people he lives with, Ben has never really had a chance to develop his sensitivity. Ben’s cousin seems to be a good candidate for the next Henry Bowers, and his aunt could very well be Sonia Kaspbrak’s twin sister. That thought makes Eddie shudder. But it also makes him grateful, because he does have a good life.

Most people familiar with Derry would say that the kids growing up there have no hope. Around the time when It was reigning, Eddie would have agreed with those people. Not a single parent so much as battered an eyelid. Kids went missing, and until another kid disappeared, nobody really cared. It was an endless cycle of “placebo grief,” as Eddie now calls it. People felt sympathy or sorrow when a kid went missing, but only because the reminders were up all around the town. Not because they actually cared. Even Betty Ribsom’s mom, and Eddie will never forget this, gave up once her missing posters were covered over with another missing child. She’s now had another baby, like Betty didn’t even exist.

Eddie sometimes wonders what his mother would do if he went missing. How long would she look for him? Would she even look for him? And if she couldn’t find him… would she just start again, like he had never existed? Eddie knows she’d surely put his picture up next to his fathers’ on the mantle above the fireplace. But would she ever spare a second thought? Eddie’s eyes darted toward the landline, sitting like pulsing heart across from him on the kitchen table. He wonders what the other Losers are doing. Maybe Ben is helping his aunt with more baking. Maybe Stan’s bird-watching with Bill. Maybe Mike’s finally getting around to repairing his bike so he can hang out with them again.

Maybe Richie’s on his way over to Eddie’s place now, with only a pair of boxers and a toothbrush to spend the night in secret again. It had only been three weeks since they’d last spoken, but… Eddie feels as though it’s been a lifetime. Grabbing a glass of water, Eddie crosses his legs over as he sits on the couch, switching on the television. He really does feel lonely without Richie. Even if just for a few moments, but the loneliness is all-consuming. Eddie figures he’ll probably have to admit to his feelings for Richie one day if he’s ever going to cure that sick feeling.

 

* * *

 

**6 West Broadway Ave, Derry**

**11:03am**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

They all worried. Richie was always covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes, and was therefore usually seen with a band-aid or two on his person. He had never brought food to school or bought it from the cafeteria, and when asked, he insisted it was simply because he never had time in the mornings to pack anything. He always appeared so happy, cracking jokes, making people laugh just by laughing. But nobody is happy all the time, only people who want others to believe that they’re happy.

So of course, they worried. But they knew that Richie, being who he was, wouldn’t have a bar of it. He’d make up some believable lie, or somehow convince them he was fine.

 

_“I don’t wanna forget, Eds,” Richie had mumbled into Eddie’s neck, sending shivers up his spine. Richie’s arms were then wrapped around Eddie’s waist, and his head rested on his chest. They were sweaty and tired, yet full of life; an old flame rekindled between them as if it hadn’t quite gone out at all. “I don’t care if it hurts. I just don’t wanna forget.”_

  _Eddie kissed Richie’s forehead. “We won’t. We can’t forget this… not ever.”_

  _“It’s already happening, Eddie.” Richie goes quiet for a moment, and Eddie thinks he’s gone to sleep before he speaks again. “Sometimes, it’s like I just go blank. I forget what happened between then and now. Sometimes, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and not know where I am. I feel like I’ve got Alzheimer’s or something. Can you get that at 18?” Eddie pets Richie’s hair, hearing the hysteria becoming present in his voice. “It’s like… whatever happened before It happened and after we defeated It… didn’t even happen at all, and only bits of the aftermath are intact. Like they’re not even my memories.”_

  _“Richie…” I understand. I feel the same way. Sometimes I forget their faces, their names. Sometimes I look at pictures of you in the album and I don’t know who you are, and it terrifies me that I could forget the one person who makes me want to remember. “Try and get some sleep. You’re not going to forget. I’ll make sure you don’t forget.”_

  _Only moments pass before Richie breathes in deep, causing Eddie to shiver again. Richie peppers Eddie’s stomach with light kisses before settling down again. “Tell me everything, Eds. Tell me everything that’s happened since… tell me what I’ve missed.”_

 

Eddie woke before Richie and took a few moments to study his features. Even with slightly greasy hair sticking to his forehead, his face was completely at rest; there were no worry-lines, or frowns, or tears. They had discovered a few things about each other last night that brought about a lot of emotion. But Eddie reasons with himself that it had to happen for them to move on.

Eddie told Richie about the loneliness and the biscuits, and the time he dreamt that all the Losers were at a wedding together but he didn’t know who the bride and groom were, only that they were there together and happy. He told him about the weeks he spent telling himself they all broke apart for a reason and the months following that he tried to convince himself they were all still together. And then he told him about the years. He told Richie about the four years they didn’t speak, when he was forced to pretend like the best years of his life hadn’t happened with the best person he has ever and will ever meet. He showed Richie the scar on his shoulder, where his mother had lashed out at him for the first and last time when he told her he had to see Richie. She’d unintentionally stabbed him with a knife in a fury-induced stupor, and he spent the night in the emergency room being stitched up while his mother filled out papers he never got to see.

Eddie also told Richie about the other Losers. At least, what he knew of them. Richie was somewhat relieved to know that Eddie had spoken to them about as much as he had.

Eddie had spoken to Mike more recently than the rest. He’d got a part-time job at the library about six months ago. Eddie spoke to him when he and his mother went for a book circle (which Richie laughed at and Eddie insisted he _didn’t_ enjoy). Mike looked happy and older. Definitely more of a man than the others. He told Eddie he now had a girlfriend, who played baseball.

That conversation led to Eddie finding out about Ben. He was planning on moving away from Derry once he graduated, which was a month or so ago now. Eddie had asked if he’d moved already, but Mike hadn’t heard from him directly, only through schoolyard gossip.

Bill’s mother had been admitted to the psych ward, the very same inhabited by Henry Bowers. Again, only gossip, but Eddie heard a conversation between his mother and her friend that Bill had runaway several times from his home, scared to death for the safety of his mother. According to the source, he successfully broke into the ward, only to be knocked out and admitted for a night himself. That was a year ago though.

He then told Richie about Stan. He hadn’t seen him for as long as he hadn’t seen Richie, maybe even longer. He’d completely withdrawn from all his clubs, he didn’t go to school even up until their very last day, and according to the apparently reliable town gossip, he hadn’t even gone to the synagogue for as long as two years now.

Richie asked if he was even still alive. Eddie didn’t know.

He lay awake for a few more minutes, watching Richie slowly come into consciousness. When he opens his eyes, Richie smiles. “You’re still here.”

Eddie pushes the thought that Richie is used to sleeping with people who leave aside, instead offering a smile of his own. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you.”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Richie had told the truth last night. After Eddie had told him about his life, and what he knew of the Losers, Richie opened up voluntarily about his own life. After hearing that, there’s no way Eddie would have left him before at least saying good bye.

Richie told Eddie about his loneliness, and his fear, and his sadness, and the times he’d almost done what he once would have made fun of people for even considering. He told him of the weeks he’d spent trying to come up with a reason why the whole town suddenly hated him, and the months he spent trying to convince himself that he didn’t care. And then he told him about his years. He told Eddie about the four years he’d spent completely and utterly alone when he was forced to keep quiet because he had nobody to talk to, and how he seriously thought he’d forgotten how to speak at all. He told him of the day’s he spent chain-smoking on the roof of his house watching as the neighbours went about their daily lives, wishing he could enjoy living again, and the nights he spent trying not to live. He hadn’t told anyone that. Not ever.

Richie didn’t pull away or flinch when they were completely naked, as Eddie took in the sights before him that made him hurt in all kids of ways. Richie was covered in scars, mostly white and faded pink thank God, and some that were purple from the cold, and others that had been extremely deep, while some were small, almost teasing. There were burn marks too, and a few wounds that probably weren’t self-inflicted. They’re all bad, but Eddie thinks that the ones Richie didn’t do to himself are the worst.

As Richie spoke about the slander, and the lies, and the heartache, Eddie cried. He couldn’t help it. And yes, a lot of people had called him a ‘fag’ because he’s a crier, but he’d seen Richie cry too, and nobody really knows what Richie is, besides awesome. _Yeah, Richie is awesome_. And Eddie made sure he knew it.

Between kisses, Eddie called him _smart, brave, kind, courageous, handsome, daring, funny, incredible._ He meant everything to Eddie, and he knew while he couldn’t make up for four years worth of neglect, he could at least try. So he did. And he will continue to do so for as long as he’s able.

“You remember that day we skipped?” Eddie asks, as Richie slowly sits up to lean against the wall. “It was all rainy and you thought you’d trick me into skipping by taking a shortcut to school.”

“And it wasn’t even a short cut, I took you straight to the theatre,” Richie says, smiling. His voice is hoarse and tired. “Yeah, I remember.”

“We got in for free because you knew the ticket lady,” Eddie says, taking in Richie’s disheveled morning appearance. He always loves the way Richie looks in the morning, completely vulnerable and natural. “Who was she… lunch lady or something?”

Richie chuckles. “Ex-office lady, but close. She faked signatures for me so I could get out of class. God, what a saint…”

“Did you want to go?”

“… what?”

Eddie clears his throat, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes at the way Richie seems hopeful as if Eddie is about to trick him. “Did you want to go to the theatre? I don’t know what’s playing, but I remember you like shitty movies.”

Richie had tears in his eyes. “You’re really going to go out in public with trailer-trash like me? To see a shitty movie?”

Eddie reached out and took one of Richie’s hands in his. “I want nothing more than to see a shitty movie with trailer-trash Tozier.”

Richie was on him in a flash, kissing him passionately, gratefully. Eddie kisses back, a hand holding the back of Richie’s head to deepen the kiss before Richie finally pulls away and jumps off of the bed with childish enthusiasm.

“I am so fucking excited, Eds!”

Eddie had given up correcting him on the nickname. _He kinda liked it_. He also kinda liked watching Richie getting dressed, excitement bubbling out of him like a kettle almost boiled. Richie lent Eddie an old shirt, but he wore the same pants as the previous day, something which he tried to ignore. Just focus on Richie. Not the pants, not the filth. _Richie_.

They were out of the door in a flash, but even though Richie was excited, Eddie’s could feel his trepidation. Maybe he could feel his own, too. After all, he hadn’t been seen with another guy for years now. That was one of the rules. He could continue going to school in Derry as long as he followed his mothers’ rules. And he’d already broken most of them. _‘Don’t hang out with those friends of yours anymore_ ,’ she’d said, after statements were released regarding Henry Bowers. But he still saw them for a little while after. _‘Don’t hang out with boys alone, it makes everyone else think you’re sick,_ ’ but he’d done that enough _. ’Don’t forget your pills,’_ but he throws most of them away now. ‘ _Come home every night,_ ’ but he’d slept at Richie’s.

But that was the most important rule. _‘Don’t ever hang around that Tozier kid. Do you understand me? He’s a bad influence and a terrible person. He will make you sick.’_

And he did. He did make Eddie sick. Sick with butterflies, and warmth, and love. If that was sick then Eddie never wanted to be better. He’d throw all these pills back in the doctors’ faces if it meant he got to be sick with Richie for the rest of his life. All those rules… he hadn’t hurt anyone. What his mother didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. They’d graduated, anyway. _What could his mother possibly take away from him now?_ Just because he was living his life the way he wanted to. There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing she could take that would hurt him.

Richie drew in a deep breath as they approached the town center. Without hesitation, Eddie quickly took Richie’s hand in his own and squeezed it tight. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” Then he let go again, and they walked into town more scared than they had ever been before. It’s one thing to be scared of clowns or disease, but people? That’s territory nobody should ever have to enter.

“I think we should see Addams Family Values,” Richie suggests, clearly scouting what’s on before they’re even close to the cinema. "I liked the first one."

Eddie smiles, knowing how hard Richie is trying to act normal, even though he's probably scared shitless on the inside. "Sounds good, Rich." Eddie wishes he didn't have to be though.

They approach the cinema hesitantly but are both comforted by the serious lack of people around. Not even the ticket guy pays them much attention, selling the tickets and continuing to look around lazily as they walk past. Richie grins at Eddie as they walk past the confectionary. Eddie already knows he's going to have to pay for a stupid packet of sour patch kids that Richie only eats the red ones out of.

“They should just sell the red ones on their own,” Richie says after Eddie forked out on two packets of sour patch kids and a box of popcorn. He’d sworn to pay for everything. “They’d make a killing in the first week, guaranteed!”

Eddie rolls his eyes, munching on popcorn as they find their seat. “You should be a stockbroker, Rich. You’d make a killing.”

“Yeah? You think so, Eds?”

“Oh, I know so.”

Richie cracks a lop-sided smile as they sit down next to one another in the back row, immediately kicking his feet up onto the chair in front. There are a few people down in the front rows, but besides that, it seems they’ve dodged rush hour. Eddie is thankful for that, but he feels bad for thinking that way.

“Hey, you think any of them saw us come in?” Richie asks, daring to scan the area around them.Eddie notices Richie wipe his sweaty palms on his ripped jeans, and reaches out to take one of Richie’s hands in his own.

_I’m brave. It’s okay. Nobody can see, nobody knows._

Eddie smiles. “Who cares? I’m here to watch a movie with my best friend. They can’t stop that.” Richie looks from Eddie’s eyes down to their entwined fingers and back again, and Eddie’s words replay in both of their minds. _‘Best friend,_ ’ Eddie called him. Eddie removes his hand from Richie’s. “I, um. I didn’t mean-“

“Stop,” Richie says, placing his hand on Eddie’s thigh. “Don’t apologise, and don’t make it worse. We’re not going to make a big deal out of it. You are my best friend. Other things… won’t change that as a fact.”

 _Mature_ , Eddie thinks. _Richie’s matured._

“Okay… you’re my best friend,” Eddie says, taking Richie’s hand in his again as the screen comes to life ahead of them and begins to roll advertisements. Richie and Eddie stare at one another for a long time, their faces illuminated by the red hue of a Cola advert, simply holding hands and forgetting about the world for a moment. “You’re my best friend, who I love. And… I’ve loved you for a really long time.”

Richie smiles, biting his lip before leaning in and softly pressing his lips to Eddie’s. “I think… I love you too.”

Had it been anyone else, Eddie would have taken offense to that statement. But for Richie, that was a lot. He could never make up his mind about anything, and when he did, it was quick to change. He had a ‘crush’ on a new person nearly every day back in middle school and got over it just as quickly. But this was different. Eddie knew Richie loved him. He just knew.

Eddie knew a lot of things about Richie. That’s why falling in love with him was so easy.

He knew that when Richie loved, he loved with his entire heart and soul. He knew that Richie was much more than a ’trashmouth,’ and much more than the comic he pretended to be. He knew Richie was kind of afraid of the dark, but he would never admit it. He knew Richie was a vegetarian but didn’t speak about it a lot because he’d bagged others about it in the past and didn’t want to seem like a hypocrite. And sometimes he eats meat because he forgets he’s a vegetarian. He knows Richie hates himself for being so loud and obnoxious and annoying, and that he’s tried to change himself so he’s more likable. But Eddie hopes he’ll never change because he doesn’t need to. Eddie also knows that Richie has a lot of secrets, some he may never tell, but that’s okay because Eddie has secrets too.

One of those secrets is the extent to which his overbearing mother is willing to go to ‘protect’ her son. And once the credits are rolling and Richie’s on a tangent about Gomez’ moustache and they’re walking out of the theatre a little too close to one another, he knows that secret is about to be let out, because Sonia Kaspbrak is leaning against her car outside of the theatre, her eyes already locked on target, and Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to warn Richie that she’s there before she’s charging at them with lighting speed.

“Eddie Kaspbrak!” She shouts, barrelling towards the pair with hefty steps. Richie just about screams as Eddie shoves him just out of her reach. “What are you doing with this little inbred!?”

Eddie swallows hard, feeling Richie’s heart practically beating out of his chest as he stands behind him, close. _Too close_. “N-nothing, mom, we just ran into each other-“

“Bullshit!” Sonia spits. Eddie shivers. “I spoke to the gentleman in the ticket booth. You were here together! And after I’d specifically told you I never wanted you being tainted by his filth!” Sonia now turns to Richie, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “And you! How dare you show your face in this town. You’re a disease, Richie Tozier. You and your family. I don’t want your kind tainting innocent youth like my Eddie-bear. Get out! Get away from him!”

Sonia shouts at Richie to disappear from her sight at the top of her voice, causing everyone within ear-shot to loo their way. Eddie is now cowering, his mothers’ tight and forceful hand holding Eddie’s wrist with an iron grip. She shoves Richie as he walks past, causing him to stumble. Some younger kids laugh. Eddie looks on in horror, as Sonia drags him to the car and shoves him into the front seat, still screaming at Richie with vulgar language that no parent should ever direct towards youth.

Richie walks away without saying a word, and Eddie wishes he could run after him, his retreating figure on the sidewalk the saddest thing he has ever seen.

Sonia gets into the driver’s seat and ignites the engine, revving it hard. She places a meaty hand on Eddie’s shoulder and forcefully turns him toward her. He yelps. “Now you listen to me, Edward. You are not to speak to that boy, or hang out with that boy ever again, do you understand me? If I find out that you are disobeying me again, you will be taken to the hospital and you will be treated again. Do you understand me? I will treat you myself if I have to. It helped last time, and it can help again.”

“No! I’m not going-“

“Then stay the _fuck_ away from Richie Tozier, do you understand me?”

Eddie nods hurriedly, his eyes stinging with tears that he’s not allowed to let go. “I understand! I understand!”

Sonia hums. “I don’t think you do, Eddie-bear. Let’s make sure you do.”

Before Eddie can protest, or scream out, or do anything, Sonia is speeding towards Richie and driving up onto the curb. Eddie tries desperately to swerve the car, but to no avail, and in no time Sonia is chasing a screaming, frantic Richie down the main road, beeping her horn at him. He’s starting to slow, and Sonia is laughing like a maniac, her face red and a vein appearing on her forehead.

“Mom! Stop! Stop it, you’re _going to kill him_!” Eddie screams, crying as Richie runs for his life, almost as if he’d running away from Eddie.

“Good! That’ll teach him to hang around with my son!”

Richie is shouting, “get the fuck away from me you crazy bitch!” but it's clear he’s starting to tire out. Sonia is only speeding up, and Richie dares to look back and see the eyes of an untamed beast out for blood. Eddie’s scared for his own life but most importantly scared for Richie, and amongst his mothers’ maddening screeches he tears off his seatbelt and launches himself at her, forcing her to veer away from Richie, who slows as the car takes off.

“Eddie! Get _off_ of me! You’re going to kill us!” Sonia screams, attempting to take back the wheel.

“Good! I hope you fucking die!” He shouts, as she reaches out and pulls at his hair.

Sonia slams her foot on the break, causing them both to lurch forward, Eddie’s forehead going straight through the front window. It cracks, and for several moments his ears ring like alarms. His mothers’ shouting at him is muffled, and he slaps her away incoherently as he climbs back into his own seat and opens the door, crawling out onto the road. Sonia is getting out of the car, screaming more incoherent words as Richie runs over to them and crouches beside Eddie, who’s world feels as though it’s collapsing around him.

“Get off of him! Get away from him you devil spawn!” Sonia screeches.

“Fuck off, you stupid bitch! Don’t you dare touch him!” Richie retaliates.

There are hands-on Eddie, and suddenly he’s being lifted into the air. There are shouts, and car horns, and a warmth running own the side of his face before everything goes black. He can still hear momentarily, but all of the words are jumbled together. He can feel himself being carried, but to where and by who, he wasn't sure. ' _I hope you fucking die'_ replays in his mind as he begins to lose consciousness. He really said that. He really said that to his own mother, who loved and cared for him since he was a young boy. But... _did she really?_

Perhaps its the numbness in his body, or the way Richie looked terrified, or the profanity being called from all around him, but Eddie momentarily has to wonder; did his mother actually ever care for him on her own? 


	5. Puzzled Pieces

**Main Street Bridge, Derry**

**1:54pm**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

They had good times, but overall, Richie sometimes thinks he hates his mother.

 _‘We’ll watch a movie later tonight,’_ she’d say. But she’d either go to sleep or get so drunk he couldn’t stand to be around her. _‘I’m tired, let's do it tomorrow,’_ she’d say. But whatever it is they were going to do, they never did it, because she was never not tired. _‘It’s just this once,’_ but it never was. ‘ _I’ll be home in an hour,_ ’ but she didn’t walk in the door until the next afternoon. ‘ _I’m trying,’_ but he never saw it.

Richie began to hate the words ‘I’m sorry,’ because the people saying them were never really sorry. He knows his mother worked hard, but not a day in her life did she think that maybe her son actually needed her around. Sometimes, when the school had been too much or Bowers had hit too hard, all he wanted was reassurance from his mom that things would be okay. But he never got it. Instead, he was the one reassuring her. He held her when she cried, too drunk to take care of herself. He gave her advice when she wouldn’t spare him even a minute of her time. He lost sleep, meals, and so much time over her, and yet she didn’t ever think to repay it.

It happened too many times for ‘I’m sorry’ to mean anything to him. If you’re really sorry, you won’t do it again, or at least try and make and effort to not do it again. But his mother never did. She repeated harmful behaviours that eventually tore them all apart. And maybe it’s Richie who put distance between himself and his parents. No, it was definitely Richie. But they helped. They gave him ammunition, gave him reason to start taking care of things on his own. The number of times Richie cried himself to sleep or dug deep into his skin with something sharp or hot just to remind himself who was in control of his life… what more was he supposed to do?

But all of that, all of the hurt and the tears and the apologies… It hadn’t helped anything.

Richie cradles Eddie in his arms, watching as he slips in and out of consciousness. Richie had long since stopped the bleeding from Eddie’s head and was now simply begging him to wake up. He’d carried Eddie away from the crime scene as neighbours rushed to help Sonia, who began to scream about a phantom pain in her chest which was apparently the result of Richie punching her. Which, he didn’t do. But of course, they’ll believe her over him. He’s a Tozier; a _liar_.

She hated him, and he had no fucking idea why. But, and Richie hates himself for thinking this, maybe Eddie knows. Maybe that’s why he isn’t waking up because he knows he’ll have to tell Richie everything and offer him every explanation he can. He has to. Nobody tries to kill their son’s friend without a reason, and suspected sodomy or contagious sickness isn’t a good enough reason.

Water rushes below them toward the Barrens, and Richie patiently watches ducks swimming along the river as a November breeze billows straight through him. They’re seemingly content, and Richie briefly wonders if ducks have anything to worry about. Of course, there’s a leader, the one the other ducks are following down the river. Richie supposes the others are just there to keep one another safe but… would those ducks ever get jealous of the leader? What if one duck goes off alone, an ‘ugly duckling’ of sorts. Do the others look for him, or is he forgotten about to make room for the runt of the flock to take his place and finally feel apart of the family.

Richie glances down towards Eddie, who is breathing steadily. Richie briefly wonders if Eddie didn’t actually pass out and that maybe his mind simply shut off so he didn’t have to deal with the trauma of what was going on. That happens sometimes. Like when people get anxious in public and faint. _What was that called… fight or flight_? Richie supposed Eddie isn’t as used to the ‘fight’ as Richie, so naturally, he fled the only was that was possible.

He wonders what Eddie will do when he wakes _. Will he return to his mother? Will he go back to ignoring Richie again, as if they hadn’t even breathed the same air for the past two weeks?_ As much as Richie loves him, and by God does he love him, he knows that Eddie will do whatever he has to do in order to be safe. He’s not weak. Definitely not weak. But he’s a survivor. Eddie knows exactly what to do to minimise as much harm to himself as possible. He’s cautious, and he always has been.

Richie remembers the first time the Losers went to the Quarry, back when there was only four of them; a memory that had been hidden for a long time now. They had always been scared to jump off of the cliff, but the first time was the worst. Stan belly-flopped so hard he had blisters on his stomach for a week. Bill nearly drowned. Richie dived too close to the edge and scraped his entire left side against the side of the rock. Eddie didn’t jump at all. He crawled down the side of the cliff, one foot at a time, until he could gently slide into the water. He kept distance between himself and the other Losers, treading water towards the edge with his mouth firmly shut so as not to take in any water.

As the years went on, Eddie got braver. But he didn’t get any less cautious.

And maybe he has a good reason. Richie knows Eddie practically lives at the hospital and has done since he was born. He’s always been riddled with illnesses that need to be treated, even though Eddie himself has even said that the illnesses aren’t quite real. His Asthma sounds real enough; even when Eddie laughs, sometimes he wheezes in the worst way. Sometime’s he coughs like Richie, but there’s no way Eddie’s been smoking.

Richie bites his lip. _Yeah, a cigarette would be nice._

He thinks briefly again back to simpler times, times he hadn’t realised weren’t apart of his life anymore. Back when it was just him and Bill and Stan before they’d even met Eddie. The three of them were in 1st grade, and although he can’t remember much, Richie does remember biting the erasers off of the ends of Stan’s pencils, and later tying Bill’s shoes together at lunch and laughing as he fell over. The three of them met with the principal to discuss Richie’s behaviour; they came out of his office laughing like they’d been together since birth.

And then Eddie came along, two years later in 3rd grade. Little Eddie who was too scared to read aloud to the class. Little Eddie who was so afraid of getting sick that he made everyone in his classes use hand sanitiser at the beginning and end of the lesson. Little Eddie who was pushed, shoved, spat on, bitten, and farted on until Bill decided he hated seeing him get picked on. But after Bill voiced an idea, Richie was always the first to act.

 

_“Hey! Leave him alone!” Eight-year-old Richie had shouted. He had a gap the width of a 50c coin between his front teeth and glasses far too big for his face. But he was not afraid._

  _Ten-year-old Henry Bowers shoved Eddie to the ground, smirking as Bill and Stan ran up to stand behind Richie. “What’re you gonna do, four-eyes? Little gay-bies come to help this little shitstain?”_

  _Stan gulped. “Did he just swear?”_

  _Bill bit his lip with nerves. “Shuh-should we t-t-tell?”_

  _Richie stepped forward once more. “Get out of here Henry, 5th graders aren’t allowed over here.” This time, having made eye-contact with a teacher, Henry walked away, having flipped off the group. They’d pay for it later. Richie offered a hand to Eddie, who took it cautiously. “What’s your name?”_

  _Eddie swallowed nervously, drawing his hand from Richie’s as soon as he was standing. “I’m Eddie,” He said, now smiling. Bill, Stan, and Richie introduced themselves and asked Eddie to join them after school by the Barrens, back when it smelled fresher and the grass didn’t grow as long. They were going to try and build a dam._

 

Eddie, now not so little and far less afraid, stirs in Richie’s arms, and Richie starts to gently pet his hair. “Eddie?” He says, quietly. “How’re you feeling?”

Eddie sighs, unable to open his eyes just yet. “M’good,” He mumbles against Richie’s thigh. “‘R’ you?”

Richie chuckles lightly. “Geez Eds, bleeding from your face and you’re asking me how I’m doin’… I’m fine, real fine. Don’t worry. Can you sit up?” They move together, working to have Eddie sitting up beside Richie against the side of the bridge. They’re closer to the foliage than the openness of the walkway, which makes them both feel safer. Eddie begins to open his eyes, and Richie takes his hand in his own. “Eds? Do you know where we are?”

Eddie blinks slowly, looking around them. “Derry,” He says bluntly, unable to hide a smirk.

“Yowza, you’re a real comedian.” Richie chuckles, and Eddie leans back against the bridge with a sigh. “No, really. You gotta tell me what you know right now, or else I’ll have to take you to the hospital. And you know I really don’t wanna do that.”

“Bridge. Not Barrens bridge, the other one.” Eddie blinks a few times, slowly, as if he’s in pain. Richie hopes he isn’t in pain. “Mom tried to hit you with her car. We ran away. I think I went through the window.” Richie’s eyes fill with a few tears, which he hastily wipes away, as Eddie tries to remember the situation. It’s my fault, he thinks. Eddie would be living his normal life if it weren’t for me coming back into it and ruining everything. “Where’s my mom?”

Richie shrugs. “I don’t know. Nobody’s come looking up here if they’re even looking.” Maybe that last part was meant more for Richie, but Eddie seems to agree with him, nodding solemnly. They’re both quiet for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of children playing, a bell ringing, and the water rushing beneath them. Eddie sighs again, gently petting Richie’s hand which he holds in his lap, keeping him close. _Safe_ , Richie thinks.

“You think I’ll hang?” Eddie asks, keeping his eyes ahead of him.

Richie swallows hard. “For what, Eds?”

“For bein’ a fag.” Eddie looks down at Richie’s hand in his lap and squeezes it tight for a moment. “I’m sorry, Rich. This is all my fault. I knew… I knew we shouldn’t have gone into town together. It was more trouble that it was worth.”

 _Oh_. “Yeah, I guess.” _Was it really that bad, Eds? Did I make life more difficult for you again?_

Eddie continues as if Richie hadn’t spoken. “I think… mom saw the hickeys, and she got pissed. She didn’t say anything, but she was checking me out and she must’ve seen one or two. That’s why she tried to hit you. She would know I wasn’t with a girl last night.”

“Well, there are a lot of hickeys.” Richie licks his lips tentatively. “You shouldn’t be apologising. I came back into your life and I just-“

“Turned it upside down,” Eddie finishes, finally looking Richie in the eyes. “You turned my life upside down, Richie.” Silence falls between them, Richie lost for words for the third time since reuniting with Eddie. _Is that a good thing?_ He wonders. _Maybe you were actually beginning to like it without me around_. Eddie’s tapping his fingers lightly against Richie’s arm before he takes a deep breath. “My dad died of cancer when I was really young,” He starts, causing Richie to stir. “Mom made me take the pills after that. I was five when I had the first lot. I think she… I think she was worried that she’d lose me too. I’ve seen her try and read stuff at the hospital before, and I don’t think she can. She thinks she knows a lot, but most of it is secondhand knowledge she overheard from my dad, I think. I think that’s why I can forgive her for what she’s done to me. She was just… trying to protect me.”

“Yeah and she fucking hurt you, Eddie,” Richie says, a little harsher than intended. “I’m not saying she doesn’t love you. But she’s hurt you, hasn’t she? She’s stopped you from fully living the best years of our life by making you fear things that aren’t scary.”

“I know, Richie. I know. But… she’s my mother. She’s done what she can for me, thinking she knows what’s best and… I guess I have to be grateful for that. And I’m not saying I forgive her for the bad shit she’s done, like the violence and manipulation. But I forgive her for not knowing, and still trying.” Eddie looks up at Richie once again and sighs. “Look at you, you’re covered in blood. Is that mine?”

Richie chuckles. “Most of it, but I think your mom got a few good hits.”

Eddie lightly taps the side of Richie’s face. “Did you feel that?”

Richie blushes slightly. “Yeah.”

“Then you’re okay.” Eddie smiles, brushing strands of flyaway hair from Richie’s face before sighing, leaning against the bridge. “God, what a mess of a life we’ve got. Who even are we? I mean really… I really have wasted the best years of my life being afraid. We fought a fucking demon clown for fuck's sake! We killed It! All on our own! And I’ve been afraid to assert myself to my own damn mother.”

Richie snorts. “I’d be afraid of asserting myself to her too. She’s got a mean swing.”

“I’m serious, Rich. What good has come of us living in this stupid place? We’re all marginalised, and I think the whole damn town hated us, even before Bowers and the clown. I’m an underdeveloped sissy-boy with asthma. You never shut up.” _Yeah, I know_. “Mike’s black. Ben’s fat. Stan’s a Jew. Even Bev got bullied for being an attractive girl! And don’t even get me started on Bill.” Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes I wish I could just go. I don’t know where, or how, but… there’s gotta be someplace better than here.”

“Yeah, this whole place can suck my ass.” There’s a moment of silence between the two, Eddie letting a chuckle escape him before their voices settle amongst the chilly wind. “We could you know,” Richie says eventually. Eddie gives him a questioning look, and Richie swallows nervously. “We could just leave. Some buses go right out to New York, I hear. If we got all our savings, we could just leave.”

"And do what? Live on the street?”

“There are shelters. And one of us would get a job there doing something. We really could do it.”

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s just a dream of mine, Rich. We couldn’t do it, not unplanned. You know how many runaway teenagers get killed? Or kidnapped? Or brutalised? I don’t wanna be one of them. And I don’t want you to be one of them, either.”

That statement makes Richie’s heart warm. “Aw geez, Eds. You really do care,” He teases, to which Eddie shoves him playfully. Then they’re quiet again. Richie’s tapping his fingers restlessly on his leg, while his mind completely phases out for a while. As a bird sings in the distance, he thinks of Stan. And then he thinks of everyone else, and It, and that night, and he knows he has to ask because if he doesn’t he’s almost positive that Eddie won’t tell him.

“Eddie,” Richie says, his usually playful tone unable to be heard. Eddie turns to face him, the seriousness of Richie’s voice causing him to frown. “I need you to tell me what happened that night.”

They’ve kept things from one another for a long time, and even though they’ve been honest lately, you can’t cure a liar. And they are both liars. Richie often wonders if he’s ever told the truth on its own before, without sugar-coating anything; if he’s ever been brutally honest and not cared what people though. He also wonders about Eddie, who has been lied to his whole life and therefore feels comfort in the lies he lives because in there it's safer.

Eddie swallows heavily, scanning Richie’s face for any semblance of his usual self. He can’t find it, because Richie’s face is honest, and Eddie is searching for a lie. Eddie takes a deep breath and asks, “Are you sure?”

 

_“C’mon guys, seriously! My moms gonna freak if you do that, get back into bed!” Eddie hissed, hands on hips as Richie and Bill were forced to climb back into the house via the window. They were playing a malformed version of Truth or Dare, while others like Ben and Stan were attempting to sleep. They were secretly enjoying the show though. Nobody could resist watching the progression of a Bill and Richie Dare War._

  _“You know it’s nearly 2am right?” Ben said, offering Eddie a sympathetic smile. “There’s no way you guys aren’t tired, you’ve been moving all night.”_

  _“I am,” Bill admitted. “Buh-but Richie n-n-needs a baby s-s-sitter. One wh-who can actually r-run after him.”_

  _Eddie rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Big Bill. But Ben’s right, get your asses into bed. Especially you, Rich. You’ll never sleep if you don’t start calming down now.”_

  _“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, ruffling Eddie’s hair as he walked past him and hopped onto the couch. “Excuse my ACDC. You’re too cute when you’re angry, Eds.”_

  _“Don’t call me that! And it's ADHD, idiot. You know that.”_

  _After a few minutes of sleepless bickering, Richie asking everyone about their darkest fantasies and Stan ‘waking up’ to slap him viciously, eventually everyone fell asleep. All except for Eddie, who was sharing the couch with Richie and could feel his heartbeat becoming more rapid, and his body tensing. He was having a nightmare. Eddie gently attempted to wake him, or at least calm him down by pressing firmly on his shoulders and lightly tapping his face. He couldn’t wake the other Losers over a stupid nightmare, but… Richie looked terrified. And apparently, he was._

  _“No, no,” Richie whispered, swatting at Eddie’s hands. “Don’t touch me!”_

  _Eddie bit his lip. “Hey, hey shh. It’s Eddie,” He attempted, to which Richie gently took his hands away and sighed. Was he actually asleep? Eddie wondered. “Richie? If you’re playing some prank it's not funny. And It's not working.”_

  _A few moments of silence passed, and Eddie was certain Richie had officially given up the game and gone to sleep. But just as he turned over, a piercing screech echoed throughout the house as Richie began thrashing around and shouting, “No! Leave us alone! We’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, I swear to god I’ll kill you! Don’t fucking move you coward.. you freak! Don’t- don’t! I’ll kill him!”_

  _The other Losers rushed to Richie’s side in an attempt to wake him up and calm him down, well aware of Mrs Kaspbrak sleeping upstairs and her knack for causing trouble. They shook Richie and called his name, watching as he convulsed and started waving his hands around, as if he were swatting flies._

  _“What the hell is going on!?” Sonia shouted, now standing with her arms crossed in the hallway, the tinted kitchen lights giving her a foreboding glow._

  _“He’s having a nightmare, Mrs Kaspbrak,” Mike said, the only one confident enough to address her correctly. “We’re trying to wake him up.”_

  _Richie was still thrashing around and shouting; while the others could see him holding an imaginary baseball bat and swinging at a killer clown, Sonia could only see a child possessed with all kinds of demons. She pushed her way past them all and, ignoring Eddie’s shouts of, “please don’t hurt him!” slapped Richie hard across the face, causing him to wake immediately. She grabbed him by the cheeks and made him look her directly in the eyes, even as tears streamed down his face in fear. “What’re you doing here, boy? You think you can come into my house and kill someone? You’re a devil child, Richie Tozier, and I will not have filth like you destroying this town.”_

  _Ignoring the protests of the children, Sonia had Richie by the arm and was dragging him out of the house with inhuman strength. They followed behind her, but could only watch from the window, locked from the outside in as she berated Richie for trying to, “corrupt other youth with his foul mouth and drug addiction.”_

  _Richie had no idea what she was talking about, even as he was forced to walk home in the early hours of the morning, scared out of his wits whenever a sound came about that couldn’t be identified. And he still had no idea what had happened when two days later, the cops were at his house asking for a statement against Henry Bowers being sent to the hospital after being discovered in the Well House covered in blood and bruises, having been screaming about a killer clown and a bunch of middle schoolers who had tried to kill him._

 

 “She thought I tried to kill Bowers,” Richie says, unmoving. “And that… I was gonna kill you guys.”

Eddie is holding Richie’s hand tighter than ever now. “I think so. But I don’t know. After that… mom pretty much banned you in the house. I had to take down all of our pictures, things you’d left behind were thrown out. If the others mentioned you or anything she’d kick them out on the spot. She even scribbled out your landline from the phone book!” Eddie says breathlessly. “I don’t know why she hates you so much, but I don’t think it’s only because of that night. There has to be something else.”

“Yeah, everything I’ve ever done for or with you, that’s what,” Richie says dryly. “She’s always hated me. Always. You started cursing because of me. You always came home hurt because of me. You saw scary movies and had nightmares because of me. Face it, Eds. This Henry Bowers thing was like express mail direct from Heaven to your mother's doorstep, and the nightmare was a tax-free benefit.”

Eddie snorts, despite himself. “Richie, don’t be so hard on yourself-“

“Why not? It’s true!” Richie huffs. “If I’d known the whole town thought I was some psychotic attempted murderer I would’ve left this shit hole years ago. Everyone thinks I tried to kill Bowers. That’s why they hate me. No, not hate me. That’s why they totally avoid and ignore me, because they probably think I’m plotting something else.” Richie rubs his eyes. “And where the hell did that drug thing come from? For months people at school were cussing me out for using all kinds of shit, but I’ve never touched a drug in my life! Well, alcohol doesn’t count, but still. Does your mom think I’m some junkie too? Is that it? And that I’m gonna lead you guys down some irredeemable path?”

“N-not exactly.” Eddie clears his throat after a few moments silence. “Your mom, actually. She… told my mom some things, the day before the sleepover.”

Richie swallows. “What things?”

“I can’t, Richie,” Eddie says with a tremor. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there, I just overheard and I-I I should have walked away, and I didn’t so- I can’t. I just can’t. It’s… it’s not my place to tell you.”

Richie grabs Eddie by the shirt collar. “What things, Eddie? I have to know what she said! I don’t care that you-“

“Richie, I can’t!” Eddie shouts, his voice powerful and strong. Richie’s grip loosens, but only slightly. “You can’t hear that kind of stuff from me! It’s not my place to tell you! Why can’t you just understand that!?”

“What, it’s that bad!?” Richie’s words are almost slurred, the desperation in Richie’s voice enough to drive Eddie crazy with sadness. Eddie can’t begin to comprehend what it’s like to be hated by so many people for something you didn’t do, and for things you’ve had no control over. But he can’t say that. Not now. “You’re saying the reason people hate me is not because of your mom or you, but because of my own? Is that it!? You’re gonna pull a classic Kaspbrak move and shift the blame over!? Scared your mommy is gonna beat you again, is that it!?”

Eddie shoves Richie hard, screaming at him, “Get the fuck off of me! Don’t you fucking touch me you asshole!” but Richie retaliates with a swift punch to Eddie’s right cheek. Something cracks, and as they have both raised one another in the air with fury unfurling on their painful expressions.

“Hey! You two! Don’t move!”

From both sides of the bridge, policemen. From both sides of the riverbank, citizens. Richie and Eddie on the bridge. Richie has Eddie by the collar, both of them are bleeding.

On November 27th 1993, at 4:19pm, Richard Tozier (18) is charged with attempted kidnapping and assault. At 4:22pm of the same day, Edward Kaspbrak (17) is charged with assault and assault of a police officer, in an attempt to break free and flee the scene. Both are taken into custody, while two teenagers look on from a distance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got Qs? hmu: orca-orchestra.tumblr.com


	6. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some may call this a "filler" chapter, and you know what I say to that?
> 
> You're damn right.

**18 Costello Ave, Derry**

**3:00pm**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

“We both saw it. That was real.”

A simple statement, but the words carry meaning far beyond the comprehension of most people. Mike Hanlon taps his fingers against the kitchen bench of the Synagogue, reserved for baking by the Jewish community; Stanley Uris’ kitchen bench. Stan awaits a response from Mike but is met with only silence as he thinks. _Calculating_ , Stan decides.

“So? What can we do?” Stan asks, now for the third time in the span of two hours. It had been nearly three days since they witnessed the one thing they hoped never to see or hear again. Richie and Eddie… they weren’t meant to see each other again. Not after what happened. But they certainly weren’t meant to hate each other.

Mike sighs. “I don’t know. My first thought was to just wait it out, but… I think we’ve done enough waiting. It’s been so long since we last spoke to each other. Maybe that’s the thing we have to change.”

“You heard what they said,” Stan says, his eyes expressing more terror than his fragile, rigid body could ever show nowadays. “We’re not- we’re not allowed to talk to him. Eddie did the one thing we weren’t allowed to do, Mike. That puts us all in danger.” Stan lowers his voice further. “If I have to make another statement or take more pills or see more psychiatrists who tell me that what I’ve been trying to convince myself was real, wasn’t real, I’d honestly rather be dead-“

“ _Stan_ -“

“It’s true! We’ve been watching our friends fall apart and have their pieces put back together by delusional quack doctors who don’t know shit! You saw what they did to Bill and his mother; they stood up for what was right and now they’re locked away like criminals with people like Henry Bowers. This is bullshit, all of it, and just because we were smart enough to stay out of it doesn’t make us any less responsible for what’s happened. And I’m sure, deep down, you feel the same way.”

And Stan is right. Mike _does_ feel the same way. Having to make statements against the mental state of his friend was one of the worst things he’d ever done; especially because everything they came up with was a lie. Richie wasn’t delusional or dangerous. But in order for them all to move on with their lives, free of harassment and Bowers and tabloids, he had to be. Richie had to be a monster forced into the shadows, treated away from the public eye like all monsters should be.

Mike wonders if Richie had worked it out yet, just what was going on with him and the nightmares and the memory loss but… he wouldn’t have. All the secret medication and treatment is acting as a preventative of the truth. That’s what the Losers wanted to fight against, but the metaphorical toxic cloud that shrouds Derry from the light of a good day stopped them. They fought hard to protect the other kids, kids like Georgie who didn’t deserve the hand they were dealt, and as a result, they were rewarded with hatred and neglect. They were winning to lose, all along. And now, they’d lost.

Mike purses his lips in thought for a moment, before returning his gaze to meet Stan’s. “I keep- I keep seeing Bowers, and hearing the sound of his body a-against the well. I could’ve killed him.” He pauses for a breath. “My mind straight away goes back to the clown, whenever the lights are out. I think… that’s whats going on. In some weird way, It’s still with us. When we were younger, it used childish fear against us, but somehow now, it’s using our insecurities. But then I think… its impossible for that to-“

Stan scoffs. “What if it isn’t though? What if all of this is just It coming back for more, to taunt us and hit us where it really hurts? What if we didn’t-“

“I don’t mean It in physical form, Stan.” Mike is patient, and understanding. They’re all scared. “You remember Bev’s dream? The one she had right before we swore to band together and fight if it ever came back?” Stan nods. “She talked about feelings, rather than what she saw. I think… that is the after-effect of what we’ve been through. What I’m trying to say is… we’re not fighting It, we’re fighting ourselves, because of It. And- and this thing with Richie and the treatments… who knows what he’s forgotten. We were lucky enough to only have a couple, but as far as I know Richie is still having them, he just doesn’t know it.”

Stan swallows. “I think so too, but… what if the doctors are doing more harm than good?”

“They are. Of course, they are. “ Mike leans against the bench now, worry pulling at his usually handsome features. “Think about it, Stan. Why would they want to make him better? They want him to forget, sure. But they’re also ensuring that people catch glimpses of what they want them to believe is the truth. I’m just… not certain we get to see that. I think they’re trying to make Richie believe it first.”

“And where do we come into that? You said you’re still seeing stuff, still having nightmares. So am I. What if Richie is too? That means whatever shit they’re pumping into him is making them worse. And that’s…”

“Making us worse.” Stan and Mike stare at each other for a moment, their minds working like clockwork as the cogs slowly fall into place. “In order for us to fight It, we essentially had to be a single unit. I’ve been thinking that, maybe, we still are. We just don’t know it.”

Stan loosens his jaw. “So, what, we’re not fixing anything because we’re individuals? Because we’re separated? Because we’re getting better as Richie’s getting worse?”

“I think we were supposed to forget about It. But these drugs and the therapy… it’s stopping Richie from forgetting, and that’s why we’re all getting worse again. We’re all subconsciously fighting against the treatment because we don’t want to get better, because maybe… maybe, deep down, we know It is going to come back.” Mike snorts bitterly, as Stan begins to chew his nails in anguish. _We’re fucked_ , he thinks. _We’re all fucked._  

“I can’t help but think we’ve contributed to everything that’s going on, even after all the papers were signed.” Mike snorts. “Hell, your dad even had to be a signatory for him because his own parents wouldn’t even show up!”

“Still talking about Richie?”

Stan and Mike turn in shock as Stan’s father, Donald, appears in the doorway holding a plastic bottle of water, which he takes a sip of. He offers them both a sympathetic smile. “I saw on the news, him and the Kaspbrak kid. Eddie, wasn’t it? A real shame, that one.” Donald walks towards the sink to refill his glass with water. “So, what’s the plan?”

Stan swallows. “Plan?”

Donald chuckles. “Yeah, plan. You know, like old times.” He misses the old Stan, who cared more about his friends than they would ever know. But he loves Stan now all the same, even if he is hurting. “Break into the hospital, steal some meds. Kidnap Richie for ransom. You know, teenager stuff.”

Stan smiles, sightly, while Mike shares a genuine laugh with Donald.

“No, nothing that’ll get us into trouble. It’s just…” Mike is unable to finish the sentence, unsure even himself what he wants to say.

Donald sighs. “Hey, its okay not get it. It’s hard watching bad things happen to people you care about and not knowing how to help them.” He glances briefly at Stan. “But do what you can, whatever you think will help. I’m sick of seeing that Kaspbrak woman on my television screen anyways. What she’s doing to that kid of hers I’ll never understand. And Richie… he’s a good kid. A bit of a handful, but a good kid. There’s no need to subject a kid to blatant torture just because of a few nightmares. We all get them sometimes.”

Stan and Mike exchange a glance.  _Yeah, we do._ Donald tells them he's leaving for a brief meeting and gives them both another sympathetic smile on the way out. As he leaves, humming a familiar tune, Mike notices the plastic water bottle again and the many signs in the kitchen that allude to a family that doesn't condone unnecessary packaging. He frowns.

"What's with the plastic?" He asks, nodding to the bottle. 

Stan rolls his eyes. "Dad hates the taste of the tap water here. He'll only drink imported bottled water. Stupid, isn't it?"

Mike snorts. "Yeah, a bit."

 

* * *

 

**172 Main Street, Derry**

**Juniper Hill Asylum**

**3:04pm**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

Bill Denbrough stares blankly at the television screen in front of him. His mother, Sharon, holding one of his hands tightly, has not left his side since she was permitted access to his ward; he’d woken up screaming at four in the morning and refused to let any nurses or doctors near him. He had to be tranquillised, screaming about sewers and the circus and someone named Beverly. For two days he shook and shivered and screamed at his mother, "don't drink it," until he was tranquilised again. He had barely spoken since.

“Sweetie, you have to eat something,” She says, petting his arm gently. “You’re so close to getting out of here, but they won’t let you go if you’re like this. It’s been three days in a row now, and you know what the doctors have said.”

Bill swallows. “I ca-cah-can’t.”

“How come?”

“Not huh-hungry.”

Sharon sighs, frowning. She know’s what he’s worried about; it’s the same thing that’s put them both in here. Bill had told her everything. He’d told her about the clown, and the sewers, and what Henry Bowers had done to them at school and then when he tried to kill Mike in the Well House. And had Georgie, a good, sensible boy who listened to his parents and to Bill at all times, not gone missing without any traces, she wouldn’t have believed him. But Georgie was gone now, he has been for five years now.

 _He’d be eleven now_ , Sharon thinks. _He’d be eleven._

All of Bill’s friendstalked about something they called ‘ _It_ ,’ and became hushed whenever a parent was in the room. They all had to make statements against one of their closest friends, and later their bully; she was sure Henry had committed the crimes, not this killer clown Bill talked about, but regardless, it was Richie who was suffering the most. Apparently. Sharon would, of course, argue that Bill was suffering the most. He’s always suffered and, she fears, he always will.

All of this, Sharon reasons, couldn’t have been made up. There’s no way a group of middle schoolers and now graduated high schoolers would have stuck to the same story for four years without a single fault. There’s just no way. She has no choice but to believe it; it’s just that none of the other parents believe it. And if they do, it isn’t public knowledge.

“M-mom.” Sharon gives Bill her full attention at his voice, even though he continues to stare without any semblance of emotion. “I don’t think we killed It. I th-th-think… It’s not ruh-really dead, j-just… resting. And h-haunting us, somehow, without being h-here.”

Sharon swallows. “What do you mean, Bill?”

Bill sighs. He can’t explain it, not now. He’s tired, and scared, and stressed beyond belief. He saw Richie and Eddie in the news after being arrested, and last he heard of the others was over four years ago. _How can you even begin to explain a feeling of complete and utter dread to someone who doesn’t understand?_ Bill wonders. There’s no way he could ever explain the complex emotions elicited from mere memories, let alone what he faces at night. It’s always after dark, when he’s most vulnerable, that the memories of It strike at him like a viper; no amount of sick therapy can repair damage from another plane of existence.

“N-nevermind.” Bill offered his mother the first smile he’s mustered in months, before returning his attention back to the television. “Just t-talking about the sh-sh-show.”

Static from the television fills her ears, and Sharon calls out for a nurse, her mind worrying more and more about Bill as the day draws nearer to their release.

 

* * *

 

**3 Centre Street, Derry**

**3:17pm**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

Ben Hanscom writes neatly, but hurriedly, as his aunt bakes in the kitchen adjacent to the living room where he’s been seated for the past three hours. School is over, _forever_ , but Ben wants a university application in New York. He won’t accept any less, not now that opportunities are open again. As far as the universities are concerned, Ben has lived a normal life. He had a steady girlfriend who lasted five years (not five weeks). He had a large group of popular friends (not social outcasts). He was academically inclined (by choice, not by convenience).

There was no clown. There were no murders. Richie Tozier is mentally ill, and it is for everyone’s benefit that he does not interact with kids who want to go somewhere in life. But that isn’t true, even though Ben has to pretend it is.

As his cousin shouts profanities at his television upstairs, his aunt ignoring him to sing terribly to something on the radio, Ben really does wish for something more. He wants his friends back; he wants to go to the Quarry, and the Barrens, and watch Richie eat food off of the floor as Eddie screams at him, and Bill and Stan bicker about menial things like homework answers and the best way to ride a bike. He wants to watch Mike paint as the other Losers play card games and to see Beverly Marsh smile again.

But he can’t. Not in this town, and not in this house.

Ben’s aunt was one of the police officers who found Bowers. She was the first to take a statement from him and the first to visit Richie Tozier’s house. From everything Ben could gather, it was all a huge misunderstanding developed from a simple, scary coincidence. On the night of the nightmare, Henry Bowers was found almost passed out on the side of the road on Route 2, little ways up from Neibolt Street. An hour later, Richie was kicked out of Eddie’s house by his mother after a bad nightmare about the clown, where he screamed about wanting to kill It. But he’d called It ‘him,’ and as it so happens, the universe didn’t like that.

Henry was taken to Juniper Hills for treatment, after screaming about a clown and a bunch of rowdy teenagers. If Richie hadn’t had the nightmares, the Losers club wouldn’t have been those teenagers. On all accounts, many of the doctors and police officers blamed Richie’s parents for his delusions and nightmares. They were known hippies back in their prime, and drugs were present in Maggie’s bloodstream at the time of Richie’s birth, and most likely, in both of his parents’ bloodstreams at the time of his conception. And that’s what they blamed everything on while assuming Richie was headed towards a similar path. But he didn’t even know it.

Suspected weapons were found during a search of Richie’s bedroom, an assortment of sharp objects that make Ben’s heart ache just thinking about, amongst bottles of alcohol at varying levels of consumption, and over twenty packets of cigarettes. Ben knows that there is still suspicion that Henry Bowers is responsible, and that Richie is just the poor kid who has copped all the residual shit. He just has to prove it. And somehow, Ben knows he can. He knows he can. But how…

“Ben! Did you want applesauce?” His aunt Jean asks from the kitchen, in her sing-song voice that says, ‘I know what you’re doing boy and you better cut it out now before I send you back where you came from.'

“Yes please!” He calls back, trying to focus his attention on the applications in front of him. He just has to pretend that everything is fine, everything is normal, and he’s only applying for university. Just for now, just for her. He’s going to help, he is going to fix this. He just has to do it in secret, like the Losers had done a thousand times before.

But this time, there aren’t many places that can keep a secret hidden.

 

* * *

 

**87 Kansas Street, Derry**

**3:31pm**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

“You will sit here until dinner,” Sonia grunts, ignoring Eddie’s wincing as she tightens the rope around his ankles, “and you will write one letter of apology to the police officers, and one to God to ask for forgiveness. This behaviour is unacceptable- I should have known that allowing you to hang out with those hooligans would _taint_ you.”

Eddie cries out as she tightens another rope around his chest, securing him to a kitchen chair. “I won’t!” He spits. “I’m not apologising and I don’t want to be forgiven, not by anyone!”

“Be quiet, Edward. You won’t be fed if you’re going to disobey me.”

“Fine.”

“Excuse me?” Sonia raises an eyebrow and looms over Eddie, her sheer size enough to strike terror into a thousand soldiers. Eddie doesn’t flinch when she raises a hand to him, nor when she doesn’t back down. “What did you say?”

Eddie glares at her, his stare and nerve unwavering. “I said ‘ _fine_.’ Do whatever you want. I am not putting anything on that paper, and you can beat me or shove me full of pills or lock me up in the psych ward with the rest of them, but there is nothing, _fucking nothing_ , that I am going to apologise for! And certainly nothing I deserve forgiveness fo-“

“You shut up!” Sonia slaps a meaty hand across Eddie’s face, knocking over a glass of water in the process and causing Eddie to gasp. “Don’t you disrespect me! You’re a coward child, Edward Kaspbrak! A coward! And you are sick. But we can treat you. We will treat you. But you need to listen to me, and you need to do as you’re told, or else you’ll end up sicker, even sicker than that Tozier boy.” Sonia strokes her son’s face, who leans away from her as best he can, recoiling at her touch. He hates it when she touches him; the very thought makes his skin crawl. “When you accept your sickness, we can treat you, and I will love you again.”

Eventually, Sonia goes to leave, humming a somber tune to herself as she places a pen in front of Eddie. But he won’t pick it up. And he won’t let her win, _not this time._

“I am sick, Mom,” Eddie says, his voice wavering as tears prick in his eyes. But they don’t fall because he won’t let them. “I’m very sick.”

Sonia turns to him, her expression hopeful. “Eddie?”

“Yeah, I’m sick. I’m real sick. I don’t think… I don’t think I can sit up straight… like this…” Eddie feigns delirium, to which his mother reacts immediately, rushing to untie him from the chair and force a glass of water down his throat. “Mom… I n-need…”

“What is it? What do you need sweetie?” Sonia is almost in hysterics, as Eddie sits up again and looks her in the eyes. His previously ill expression returns to normal, and he glares at her.

His acting has gotten a lot better. Eddie supposed he has another thing to thank Richie for. 

“I’m sick, Ma.” He stands up, pushing his surprised mother away from him. “I’m sick of this town, I’m sick of the lies, and I’m sick of you.” Sonia gasps, but Eddie ignores her. “You know what else? I’m sick with an _incurable_ disease, Mom. A real bad one. Maybe even the worst. I’m-“

“Don’t you say it, Eddie.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t you dare say it, Edward! Don’t you dare say those words under my roof-“

“I’m _gay_ , Mom! _I’m fucking gay_!” Eddie shouts, backing away from his mother’s hysterical form. “I’m a homo! A fag! A godforsaken sissy boy! And guess what Ma? You wanna know who made me this way? Richie Tozier! I’ve fucked Richie Tozier, right up the ass! And he’s been up my ass in more ways than you could ever imagine! And we’ll do it again, every night if I have to for you to understand that we’re both sick and you can’t stop it!”

“Eddie! No!” Sonia screams, attempting to cover her ears as Eddie runs, faster than he's ever run before, straight for the front door. He barely escapes his mother’s grasp as he runs out into the middle of the road, his mother shouting tearful profanities at him as he races down the street with tears streaming down his face. But he’s not sad, or scared.

He’s gay. And he’s _ecstatic_.

Eddie has no idea where he’s running. He knows where he wants to go, and who he wants to go to, but he can’t just yet. He has to earn that. He and Richie did and said some stupid shit yesterday, and even though Eddie knows Richie will just forgive him, he has to earn that forgiveness to feel as though he deserves it.

 

* * *

 

**6 West Broadway Ave, Derry**

**3:59pm**

 

**November 1993**

 

 

 _Red light;_ Richie feels hot all over until a weight is removed from his chest and his laboured breathing returns to normal. He’s clammy to the touch. There are noises surrounding him, like the sound of a horror film playing at the theatre, but its as if the film is playing from another room. Screams of terror, a growling monster. There are two gunshots and the light begins to fade, slowly blending into a deep purple and then-

 _Blue light;_ Richie is frozen stiff, his hands unable to tear the frozen hand wrapping around his neck away from him. Everything begins to blur, and he can no longer breathe again. There are two voices, maybe three, threatening and rough. He’s scared, unbelievably scared, but he can’t run or hide or move. There are two more noises, like the slamming of a door and two clicks.

Richie wakes up in a sweaty puddle in the middle of his bed, throat sore from screaming. It’s the first nightmare he’s had in a week. He knew he shouldn’t have taken a nap.

But that’s just how they seem to go, so maybe it doesn’t matter. He can go a whole week without a nightmare and then he’s there again, back in the sewers with the other Losers, silently begging for his life. He can’t remember the dreams after a while, but there are two recurring themes that never go away. One, there’s a killer clown; that thing he will never forget. Two, the Losers are surrounding Richie sometimes and not the clown, and they’re trying to kill him.

And maybe that’s what he deserves. Maybe that’s what actually happened that day; they killed Richie and now he’s a ghost seeking vengeance. Untrue, but that’s what he wishes sometimes.

Richie climbs through his window and out onto the roof, still barely awake from a nap that was supposed to only take half an hour and ended up lasting four. It’s starting to get closer now, December slowly creeping up on Derry like a lion ready to attack.

In his back pocket, an envelope addressed to him burns like cancer. His name and street number are written in a mock-cursive scrawl that makes Richie’s heart feel warm. He didn’t have to search for a return address, knowing full well he wouldn’t find it out in the open for anyone to see. With his mother asleep on the couch and his father at work, Richie desperately wants to tear open the letter and reminisce about Beverly Marsh. He wants to take in everything that’s in the letter, betting that its all sunshine and rainbows out wherever she is. But there’s another part of him, a part that's terrified at what might be in there too.

In the end, that is the part that makes him open the envelope, tentatively and with an unsteady hand. He lights a cigarette before his eyes settle on the page.

 

 

 

 

 

> _Dearest Richie,_
> 
> _It’s been a really, really long time since we last spoke. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that though. I’ve been meaning to write you for a long time, but things haven’t exactly been going that well for me, and even though I wanted to talk to you about it, it felt like something was stopping me. It’s not the same, but a similar feeling; I felt like the clown was back. I’ve felt like this since I left Derry, and even though its becoming less and less as I’ve been away, sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat thinking I’m back there. If its the same for you, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. I do hope you’re all okay._
> 
> _It’s hard to condense 4 years of absence in a few pages (sorry about that by the way, I do hope you can actually read) but I’m going to try my best. Firstly, its nice here with my aunt. She makes the best apple pie I’ve ever had in my life, and always takes me out to do fun things. Last week we went to a carnival, and a couple of years ago she took me to an aqua park. It was AMAZING. I also met a guy called Tom last year, and I think we’re dating. He hasn’t said it officially, but he tells me how pretty I am all the time, so that’s a good sign, right? I know how jealous you get Rich, but I promise he’s not as good of a kisser as you ;-)_
> 
> _I haven’t heard at all from the others. I have letters to send to them too, which I’ll post for delivery around Christmas Day as a gift, but I figured that you would be the best person to speak to first. We always had such a connection, and I guess I wanted to value that. Speaking of which, I didn’t know quite how to approach the subject, but if I don’t tell someone about it I think I’ll go mad. I don’t know if you feel the same, but for a while I completely forgot about everything; about the clown, about Derry, even all of you. I couldn’t for the life of me remember your names or even that I’d lived there. Then one day, about six months ago, it all came flooding back like a bad dream. Of course, not all of it was bad, but the majority had me up for hours crying non-stop. My aunt thought I’d gone mad. Apparently I’ve been saying strange things in my sleep, sometimes even getting up and walking around the house trying to break down doors and windows. Just last night I poured boiling water down the bathroom sink; according to my aunt I boiled the kettle during the night and tipped it down in an attempt to “kill them all.” I don’t know about you, but that has me scared beyond my wits. And surely my aunt is going to have me committed for all the crazy-talk._
> 
> _Don’t think I’m nuts, but I also dreamt about us again. It was pretty recently too. Do you remember the day we made our oath? I’d had a dream the previous night about us, all back in Derry. I could only remember the feeling, but we were all there as adults. I dreamt about that again. But this time it was different, because it wasn’t all of us. It was only me, you, and Bill. But we were colours. You were yellow, a vibrant yellow that outshone our surroundings completely, with the slightest red hue. Bill was white, completely and utterly white, like an angel. It was a weird dream, because even though I was asleep I was conscious that I was dreaming. Does that even make sense? I’m not sure. I tried to see where the others were, but I just couldn’t. I could only feel them. I felt an overwhelming sadness thinking about Stan, and pain thinking about Mike, and this absolute warmth for Ben. Call me crazy, but I felt like something serious had happened with you all. Thats why I wanted to write you. Not only am I worried for them, but also for you. I’m no psychic, but this dream… it just feels too real. And I worry because I haven’t heard from any of you._
> 
> _I’d like you to please check up on everyone and write back as soon as you can. You were all my closest friends, people who I would have done anything for. I need to know you’re all safe. Maybe I’m just being ridiculous, maybe I’m overanalysing these dreams and everything is fine, but I don’t want to risk it. You can’t be too careful with these things, especially after what we’ve been through together. I’d hate to lose any of you._
> 
> _Much love,_
> 
> _Beverly Marsh_
> 
> _xx_

Bile rises in Richie’s throat, and he barely makes it to the edge of the roof to spit it out. It falls to the ground with a sickening splat, and Richie hopes to god that every demon he has ever encountered splattered with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here we are folks, getting ready for the second half of the fic where things get messy and some of you may regret reading. Haven't worked it out yet whether or not someone is gonna die but hey, let's see where the story takes us. 
> 
> On a side note, my regular uploading might be a bit off during the next couple of weeks, as all of my finals are in the same week (yay me) and I have to focus on that. HOWEVER I hate studying so is it possible I'll upload within the week? Yes. Should you expect it? Probably not. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me on this, and I appreciate everyone's lovely comments, its a real nice thing to log on here and know people are enjoying your work, so again, thank you all so much.


	7. Beyond and Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol guess who wrote another chapter instead of studying, yeah good guess it was me.  
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Also: I've decided to make this into a series because delving into the nitty-gritty, to me, won't work with the current pacing of this story. So, we're coming to the end of Part 1, and Part 2 will follow on from what you don't see here. Doesn't make sense? It should when you read it.

**6 West Broadway Ave, Derry**

**8:32am**

 

**December 1993**

 

 

It’s a frigid day in Derry, most windows glazed over with a thick layer of frost. All the trees are devoid of leaves, and the luscious green lawns that West Broadway is ultimately known for are mostly shades of dull green and white. The whole town seems to still be asleep, a foreboding sign that Richie doesn’t take lightly. It isn’t snowing outside, as earlier December often does, rather it’s dreary as the sky prepares to open and flush the filth from Derry, right into the sewers with the rest of the filth. Right, where it belongs.

The Tozier household is quiet, save for the clinking sounds of cutlery and porcelain meeting briskly, and white noise emitted from the television that hasn’t received a signal for two days now. They still leave it on though, for ambiance. Or to remind them that nothing in this home is ever or will ever be good. All of the curtains are drawn, and the dim overhead kitchen light flickers teasingly, threatening to blow at any moment, almost as if it has gained sentience and can see the electricity bill sticking out like a sore thumb on the kitchen counter. Dirty dishes are piled up beside the bills, some of them old enough to host colonies of bacteria should they choose to move in.

Richie understands why they don’t though.

Maggie had asked to start work late today, much to Richie’s discomfort, and made the two of them breakfast. It's unnerving, but he supposes it’s kind of nice too. After all of their fighting yesterday morning, Wentworth hadn’t been home. _Maybe he’s being passive aggressive_ , Richie thinks. But there’s a good chance he feels guilty. Richie glances over to his mother, who is pushing an egg yolk around on her plate, her eyes puffy and red.

But Richie doesn’t care that much. Last night may very well have been the worst night of Richie’s life, at least at home. They had all said things that they’d never said before, some they’d said too much, but all in all, they all wanted to hurt one another. Wentworth wanted to pass off the blame, hurting Maggie or Richie. Maggie wanted to hurt Richie for what he’d apparently done to the family, in turn blaming Wentworth. Richie didn’t want to hurt anyone, they all hurt enough as it is, but he did. And he doesn’t care. Not that much.

He supposes that maybe he did want to hurt them, even just a little bit. Apparently, the only way to get your point across in this nuclear family, Richie had thought, was to make them hurt.

 

_“I can’t believe this is what we’ve raised!” Maggie shouted, slamming the front door behind her after having spoken to more cops about suspected damages done to a car on Main Street. Given his ever-increasing track record with the Derry DPP, Richie was the first suspect. “First attempted murder, then drug trafficking, assaulting a kid and damaging a police car!? What the hell is wrong with you, Richard!?”_

_Richie was mortified. But he didn’t show it. “I didn’t do it, I swear! They’re just after me because of Mrs Kas-“_

_“Oh right, that fucking woman!” Maggie rolled her eyes, throwing her hands in the air as Wentworth stood slightly off to the side. “She is to blame, but you’ve got a lot of nerve defending yourself with her! You were the fire Richard, she was just a match that got a little too close. Don’t use her delusions to cover up what you’ve done!”_

_Wentworth hummed in agreement. “Your mother’s right. You’ve been up to some pretty shitty stuff, Richard. First the Bowers kid and now Kaspbrak’s son? Now look, we’ve tried to raise you well.” Richie snorted. “But all of this-this rebellious behaviour stops now. No more friends, no more television, and certainly no more unsupervised behaviour. We’re in our right minds to send you up to the Whack Shack yourself if you keep it up, back up there with that stuttering friend of yours.”_

_Richie scoffed. “You really think you’ve been raising me well? I barely ever fucking see you, and when I do you’re either beating the crap outta me or shoving me up to my room! I can’t even remember the last time I saw her sober,” Richie pointed an accusing finger at his mother, “let alone acting like a real mother should. But oh, you really did raise me well, yeah, trying your best and all that other bullshit-“_

_“Richard! Don’t you dare talk-“_

_“Why not, huh? Why the fuck not!? When was the last time I ever spoke to you? When was the last time you ever fucking spoke to me without telling me what a piece of shit disappointment I am!? Can you tell me, because I sure as hell can’t fucking remember!” Richie shouted, slamming his fist against the wall in pure fury, causing both his parents to jump. “I’ve been self-sufficient since I could fucking breathe, while you two were too busy out getting shit-faced or high off of some cheap alleyway drugs! I know it because I’ve seen it. Maybe that’s something you should’ve learned by now, huh. You can ignore something all you want, but it’s still there, even when you pretend it’s not. Sound familiar? No, of course not. Because I’m never fucking here anyway. But you wouldn’t know that, would you!”_

_Both of his parents were gobsmacked, both going to defend themselves before cutting each other off. They’re bubbling with fury, and pain, and hurt. But so is Richie, and after eighteen years, they’ve finally noticed it. Tears pricked at Wentworth’s eyes, at the sight of his son shaking with fury and anguish, and Maggie was frozen. Completely, utterly frozen. Richie shook his head, almost in disbelief. Of course. Why would they bother responding now?_

_“These past five years have been a living nightmare. I’ve fought with demons you could never even imagine. I’ve lost my friends, the people I really love. I’ve been made out to be a monster by the whole fucking town. I’ve been alone, scared, confused. I’ve been poked and prodded by all different kinds of people and sharp things. You think I don’t feel the shocks? Or the needles? I’m a fucking good actor. Maybe if you’d bothered to show up to some of those school plays I worked so hard in, you’d actually know that.” Tension falls thick between them all, cut only by the sharpness of Richie’s words that went straight to the core. “You’re shit,” Richie said, his voice unnervingly quiet, bitterness tainting his words. “Pure fucking shit. But I get it, I do. I get why you’re pissed at me all the time. You wanted a daughter, but you got me. You wanted a sports star, but you got me. You wanted a successful, popular, nice, quiet kid who wouldn’t cause trouble, who you could show off at all the backyard luncheons you got invited to. Instead, you got me. And I’m sorry that I’m not what you wanted, but there’s not a lot that can change what’s already done."_

 

They eat in silence, Maggie having cooked for the first time in a long time until she glances up to look at Richie from across the table. His hair is unbelievable shaggy, and there are bags beneath his eyes reminiscent of her own. When had she last looked at her son? Not just a glance, but properly taken him in? He’s tall, she notices, hunched over to eat without spilling food all over the table. He has a terrible sense of fashion, and there’s a stain on his shirt that looks as though it has been cemented there. Does he do his own laundry? Does he know how?

“Are you going out today, Rich?” She asks, swishing a glass of water in her hand subconsciously as nerves prick at her fingertips. Her voice wavers and cracks as she licks her lips tentatively. She’s nervous, incredibly so, because last night was a wake-up call if she’s ever received one. She’s just not sure that what she needs to do is what she wants to do. No, she knows it's not what she wants to do. But how can you relieve eighteen years of neglect without wanting to?

Richie blinks up at her, unsure how to answer for a moment. He swallows his mouthful. “I wasn’t planning on it.” _Can’t really go anywhere anyway, so it doesn’t matter_. “Why?”

Maggie worries her lower lip for a moment. _Why_? That is a good question. “Well,” She starts, neatly making breadcrumb piles on her plate with her last remaining fake nail. “I thought that maybe since neither of us is busy, we could head out to Westbrook for the day. There’s a nice little farmers market festival on, and I thought maybe you’d enjoy it… we used to take you when you were little.” Maggie doesn’t want her son to suffer anymore. She knows what she’s done to him will impact him forever, but there is nothing she can do to change it now. It's too late, she thinks. The damage is done and I can’t turn back now. But… she doesn’t want to repair anything. As horrible as it sounds, Maggie knows that she won’t find a single caring bone in her body for Richie, as much as she wants to. “I was thinking we could go together.”

Richie was the product of a failed attempt at bringing back the daughter they deserved. She was there, ready to see the light of the world, but she was gone just as soon. The doctors called it a “miscarriage,” but Maggie called it negligence. On their part, of course. They’d told her that her body couldn’t sustain a life in the condition it was in, so she quit the drugs and the alcohol for a while to have her baby girl in her arms again. But doing that brought her a boy, a boy who lived no matter what they tried after she’d found out.

_Westbrook… Westbrook sounds good right now. Or even further._

Richie swallows. “Well…”

 

_Maggie had burst in through the front door for the first time in twenty-four hours. Went had been gone for a week, out at a conference in Jersey. Richie was ten._

_“Honey, I’m home!” She exclaimed in a sing-song voice, barely able to keep herself upright. She’d been drinking; even at ten years old Richie had learned to detect it on her breath, and her clothes, and to notice the way her eyes couldn’t quite focus properly. She had been out with her friends, promising to be, ‘only two hours, I’ll be home by 12pm.’ Richie could count to two, and it definitely wasn’t 11am until 9pm._

_“You’re late,” He’d mumbled, eyebrows creased at the sight of her. This wasn’t the first time she’d left him alone for so long. “Did you bring home food?” He asks after a few moments contemplation, noticing she hadn’t even brought her handbag home with her. She’d promised him fast food, like Burger King or KFC. That’s how she apologised, by feeding him whatever he wanted. But she was too drunk to even remember that._

_Maggie snorted. “Nooo, Darryl drove me home so we couldn’t stop. Sorry, sweetie. God, I’m so tired! So, so tired! C’mere Rich, c’mere and let's cuddle for a bit. I’m lonely.”_

_You’re lonely? He thought. You’ve been out with your friends all day and you’re lonely? Richie stepped away from her, shaking his head. “No.” Richie left her, storming up to his room with a growling stomach and a headache, and anger bubbling in his blood like he had never felt before. He hated liars. He hated his mother._

 

Richie considers it for a moment but places the cutlery onto his plate to signal the end of their conversation. “Thanks, but no. I actually do have something to do today, so… yeah, no.” Richie keeps his eyes down, muttering a hurried, “sorry,” before leaving the table and going up to his room, closing the door quietly behind him. It’s silent in the kitchen for a moment, before Richie hears plates clattering together as they’re placed in the sink, and finally, the front door opening and closing as Maggie leave the house.

Richie sighs shakily. _She’d tried. She’d actually tried, and I shut her down._ He bites his lip. B _ut how many times has she tried before, only for it to end the same way it always does? You can’t change a person. They can change, but you can’t change them_. Richie believes that both of his parents need to change, but inevitably, they won’t, and it would be stupid of him to even attempt to help them. What’s done is done, and as much as it hurts to come to terms with, Richie will never have the relationship he wants have with his parents.

They’ve fought all his life. They’ve ignored him all his life. They’ve tried to make things better only to regress backward even further all his life.

They’ve kind of hated him all his life.

 _There were good times_ , he supposes. Times when his father would copy his Voices as a way of getting him to do chores. Or when his mother would help him with his math homework, simply because she was practically a genius at it and he was kind of hopeless. Not at anything else though, just math.

Richie’s absent-mindedly packing a backpack, thoughts of Westbrook and even further playing like one of his favourite records in his mind, with various items of clothing and toiletries as he comes to terms with everything. His parents may not like him, but they did what they could for someone they didn’t like that much. He’d had a bed, clothes, food in the house he could make himself, and pocket money for doing chores for them and the neighbours. They sent him to school, to homework clubs (that he usually didn’t attend), and even let him take guitar lessons for a few years.

Richie remembers hugging his mother after one of her first depressive episodes. She’s been drinking heavily all day after one of her friends died of cancer, and Richie was the only one around. She sobbed in his arms for what felt like hours, telling him how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. That soon passed and she fell asleep. She never told him those things again, but she had said it. He also remembers going fishing with his father. They were both hopeless, but Wentworth was set on catching a cod to host a neighbourhood barbecue that would rival their next-door neighbours, who seemed to be the street favourites. They both came home soaking wet after falling into the river, and Wentworth was fined for fishing in an illegal zone, but overall it was a fun day, and they laughed a lot.

But those moments don’t make up for everything else. They make it hard see how bad the bad things actually are, but Richie is old enough to recognise that. He’s eighteen now. He knows to get out of abusive situations when you can, and now that he can, he doesn’t want to. Why is that? He wonders. He hates this place, and he hates being held down by people who hate him. But maybe it isn’t the place. Maybe it’s the people he doesn’t want to leave behind. Specifically, one person.

But things weren’t going great between them, either, so maybe Richie would be better off officially disappearing and never having to think about Derry or the Losers or his family or the clown ever again. Yeah, he could do that. After all, he’s gotten over much worse before. How hard could it be?

Richie throws the backpack onto his shoulders and leaves the house, leaving his house key up in his bedroom. With the windows locked, he has no possible entry point, bar breaking in and risking arrest again. This is it. He’s leaving. With $78 of his own money and $340 stolen from the Secret Savings box in his father’s closet, Richie is headed somewhere. Maybe to New York, he thinks, or even further than that. He could go to Canada, or Los Angeles, or even China if he wanted to!

Okay, maybe China is pushing it. But he’s a free man. He can do whatever he wants now.

Richie smiles internally, stomaching the nerves as he passes by the intersection that joins West Broadway and Kansas Street. His feet instinctively go to turn left, to walk towards a familiar two-story house that smells like sandalwood and Vicks Vaporub. But he forces himself in the opposite direction, not even sparing the street a single glimpse. He might find what he’s looking for down that street and that is not what he wants to do today.

Today, he’s changing his life. Richie Tozier is doing something insanely stupid, and for the first time, its the only stupid decision he’s making that actually makes sense.

He’s going to start fresh, living a new and improved life anywhere that’d better than here. There’ll be no people who hate him, or rumours about him, or people who were his friends all his life until even that was too difficult to maintain. He’s going to leave. He’s going to get out of Derry. But his mind goes straight back to them, all the time. Getting out of Derry… they’d all talked about it, the Losers. Bill wanted to go to Manhattan and sell hot dogs, ‘real hot dogs’ as he’d said. Ben was set on heading out to New York, has been his whole life, and his enthusiasm is what made it seem so appealing to Richie. Stan and Bev both thought about New Zealand and Texas, but Richie always thought Bev would get there first; he hopes he’s right. Mike never said anything about leaving Derry, seeming pretty content with everything as best he could be, and Eddie… he claimed he had to look after his mother.

Richie snorts. _Yeah, no. If I had to stay here and help Eddie look after Mrs K while diabetes slowly took its course, I’d rather die._

He whistles to himself as he passes by Bassey Park, heading towards the bus terminal beside the Falcon Bar. Just the sight of it makes Richie’s insides twist a little. It’s the local hangout for queer people from Derry, and even though that number is quite small, it's enough to have Richie feel just a slight twinge of jealousy. Eddie might go there one day, he thinks, seeing its slightly-vandalised front from the street. He might go there to meet someone, and they might fall in love, and then he won’t want to see me.

But that won’t matter, he reminds himself. I’ll be gone, far away from this place by the time that happens. Besides, most people know you don’t meet at the Falcon for a sexual experience anymore. You meet at the Kissing Bridge.

 

_It had been two years and eleven months since Eddie was banned from seeing Richie, but that was long enough. Eddie felt as though he and Richie had swapped bodies when he threw rocks at Richie’s window, beckoning him outside with a strange ferocity in his eyes and sneaking away into the night more than three blocks away. They did it on foot, too._

_Richie had no words, completely enthralled with the Eddie Kaspbrak who was a stickler for the rules and totally mesmerised with the Eddie Kaspbrak who was actively breaking them to satisfy his own selfish needs. And, Richie supposes, his too. While Eddie felt as though they would be caught at any moment, they weren’t. And while Richie thought Eddie would chicken out and call it a night at any second, he didn’t._

_“This stays between us,” Eddie said, planting kisses along Richie’s collarbone as they hid under the bridge. He was bold, whispering things Richie had only dreamed of hearing from his lips, as he sent electricity through Richie’s veins. “This didn’t happen, okay? Please, please don’t mention it. I never spoke to you or saw you, okay? I don’t want… I don’t want to put you or any of us in danger because I’m selfish.”_

_Richie moaned as Eddie sucked lightly on his neck, his stomach contracting with pleasure. “O-okay, sure.” Whatever you want, Eds. As long as you want me. And as long as you keep doing tha- “Oh,_ fuck _.”_

_They never spoke about it again, because after that night Eddie avoided Richie like the plague as he’d been doing for the past year, just like the other Losers. It wouldn’t have hurt that much if every time Richie looked in the mirror he didn’t still see remnants of where Eddie had been on his body. As the days turned into years, Richie would never miss that feeling._

 

The bus terminal on Centre Street passes Derry Home Hospital and goes right up to Portland. From there, Richie has to board another train which goes all the way up to Montreal. After that, he can fly out to wherever, or catch a few more trains to Alberta. It’s all too close to home, though. He needs to get off of the continent to feel whole again. But he could do that.

He’s invincible now.

Richie tries to reminisce on what he can remember of the old days, but almost as quickly as he can blink, it’s gone, as if a veil is draped over Richie’s eyes and mind as a bus pulls up to the terminal. When the bus driver asks where he’s headed, Richie says, “I’m not sure,” his mind sending itself into overdrive as he starts to panic. Where am I going? Why am I here? I was going somewhere, I was going… I was going…

“Sherbrook,” He says hurriedly, blinking at the driver as he struggles to catch his breath. I _’m not going to regret this. I have to do this, for everyone and for me_. “I’m going to Sherbrook, via Portland.” The driver takes in Richie’s appearance and lack of luggage, debating whether or not to deny him service, before closing the doors behind him with a huff and giving him his change.

 _Yeah, Sherbrook. That’s okay. That’ll do._ Richie finds a seat and pulls out his walkman, plugging in the headphones and letting his head rest on the back of the chair. He’s jolted slightly by the bus engine but finds that the rhythm of the humming is kind of relaxing. His loud and racing mind comes to a comforting stop as they pass by the Welcome to Derry sign, and Richie allows himself to sigh with relief.

 _It’s over_ , he thinks. _I’m out._

As Richie Tozier travels towards the rest of his life, confusion clouding his every thought, two acquainted teenagers run into a familiar face sitting below the Paul Bunyan statue. He’s covered in vomit and blood, stuttering outcries of help as they approach him and weeping as they fall to their knees around him. “It’s happening again," He blubbers, having to rock back and forth to keep as much cool as possible. "It's going to happen again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are ya'll getting Stranger Things vibes yet cos... that's exactly what I'm giving out at this point.


	8. The Disappearance of Richie Tozier, Pt. 1

**3 Centre Street, Derry**

**11:17pm**

 

**December 1994**

 

 

One year, twenty-three days, two hours, and eighteen minutes. That is how long Richie Tozier has been missing from Derry.

Two days after their son’s disappearance, both Wentworth and Maggie Tozier left town, a dingy _For Sale_ sign claiming their front yard as it’s very own less than an hour after they’d left. All furniture remained, but there were no signs of life. They left no contact details, and there were no traces of their whereabouts. Any of them. It was as if they had never even lived in Derry. Around the same time, a plumbing pipe burst on the sidewalk out the front of their house, causing serious flooding on West Broadway that still isn’t entirely resolved. There’d been a stench of something horrid filling the air after that.

Ben Hanscom cracks his neck in an attempt to relieve tension, locked up in his bedroom like a hermit surrounded by piles of history books and a list of people who claim to be experiencing one thing or another, still trying to decipher when things started to go wrong. This is so much more than just Richie, Ben concludes, and not for the first time. This involves almost every kid in Derry. How has no one else realised this?

Around the same time as Richie went missing, Stan Uris and Mike Hanlon discovered a distressed teenager by the name of Adam Tearney in the centre of town. Neither of them had heard of him before, simply crossing paths with the boy after returning books to the library. He bumbled about something ‘coming back’ and repeatedly begged the two of them to kill him and then themselves. They walked with him to the nearest phone booth and called an ambulance. Less than twelve hours later, the news reported that a young boy threw two medics into Penobscot River and then injected air into his veins with a syringe from the back of the ambulance. No one survived, and there was no obvious motive or broadcasted resolution. There was only one thing that stood out to the three of them. He had a missing poster on his person, bearing the name Adam Tearney and all of his details, along with a picture that had been printed over an old newspaper article about Betty Ripsom’s disappearance five years ago.

This simple, easily-overlooked fact caused them all to grimace with a dulled sense of knowing.

While Mike is currently using Ben’s shower, Stan is struggling to stay awake at the end of Ben’s bed, having read over the same book of Derry Criminal Cases three times in an attempt to find links between Adam and the situation with the Losers.

“Stan, you can go to sleep you know,” Ben says, smiling slightly as Stan blinks awake. “I doubt we’re going to find more today. None of us are… in the right mindset.”

Stan groans. “It’s not even that late. I’m fine. It’s just this… this whole situation. It’s _wrong_. There’s just something completely terrifying about it and I can’t put my finger on it. I swear just yesterday when Mike and I came here… I’d almost forgotten who you were. Hell, I almost forget the whole situation.”

Ben nods in understanding. Stan isn’t the only one. Ben himself had a difficult time recognising the two of them when they knocked on his front door yesterday. He recognised their faces, but everything he’d once known about them… it was gone. And he told them that, after a few hours of re-acquainting with one another. They were being honest now. They had to be. There were too many similarities in this case for them to ignore, or allow themselves to forget. They had to at least try.

“I know, I feel the same way, but you’re not going to be any help if you’re half dead. Get some rest, okay? Mike and I can take this stuff downstairs.” Ben’s aunt and cousin had flown out to Massachusetts for a fortnight, leaving Ben with all the time he needed to focus on what was going on without worrying about her trying to stop him. “We’ll wake you up if there’s anything too alarming, okay? But you gotta try and rest or else you’ll be no help.”

“Ben.” Stan glowers at Ben, lips pressed into a thin line. “This whole thing is alarming. I know we’ve all got different memories intact, but there’s no denying that this whole thing is practically oozing with remnants of that clown. You know that, don’t you.”

Ben wants to disagree. But he can’t. They’d fought off an ancient, inter-dimensional demon clown five years ago. Nothing can be ruled out as a possibility for the strange things happening in Derry. He sighs, closing one of his library books. “I know, Stan… this whole situation is almost like a mirror, but I- I want to rule out everything else first. It’s easy enough to go back to what we already know-“

“But we don’t know!” Stan hisses. “We didn’t know then, and we don’t know now. There aren’t any definitives. None. What we went through… nobody can give that a name. We can’t say for certain that anything we discovered was correct. There is no hard proof that It comes back every twenty-seven years, even though it felt that way back then. That could have just been a coincidence! We did about as much research as middle schoolers are capable of which, now that I think about it, isn’t a lot. We were young and naive, and no matter how scared we were we all thought we were invincible! But we’re not. We’re just not. And a threat like this coming back… I just- I just can’t even _think_.”

Stan buries his head in his hands, quaking as old fears bubble to the surface of his mind once more. Ben bites his lip, before standing up to get Stan a glass of water. He can hear the shower still running, and he knows for certain that all of the windows and door are locked. For safety. It’s okay, he reminds himself. Everyone is safe here. It’s all okay. When Ben returns to the bedroom, Stan is fast asleep, passed out face-first on the floor with one leg still stuck on the bed. Although he looks completely unnatural, like no human being should, there’s no denying he is fast asleep. Ben moves him beneath the cover of his bed after removing all the research and shuts the door behind him.

Mike leaves the bathroom as Ben is making his way downstairs.

“Stan asleep?” He asks, towel-drying his hair.

Ben nods. “Yeah.”

“Thought he might be. I’m glad, he was getting all worked up again.” Mike hangs up the towel and follows Ben downstairs, the heat of the shower having allowed him to cry without fear of being judged for it. He’d spent too long trying to forget what he now was being forced to remember. “So, what’s the plan now, Haystack?”

Ben sighs. “I’m not sure. I think we’re all in way over our heads with this.” After a moment, he chuckles. “God, I haven’t heard that nickname in years. Haystack… Richie sure had a way of making people feel comfortable. He was a good guy.”

“ _Is_ ,” Mike corrects, slightly more stern than he’d intended. “He’s not- he’s not _dead_ , Ben. He’s out there, probably just… chasing his dreams, like he’d always said he would.”

Ben swallows. “Sorry, Mike. I didn’t mean it the way I said it. This is all just… a bit hard to comprehend.”

Mike smiles, petting Ben on the back as he lies down on the couch. “Don’t worry about it. Tensions are high right now, I don’t blame you for anything. Any word on Big Bill yet?”

Ben shakes his head. “No, none. When I phoned earlier his mother answered, told me not to call back. Presumably, he’s out because she is, but we can’t say for certain.” Ben switches off the main lights, the two of them now illuminated by the dim light left on in the kitchen. “I did get in contact with Beverly though. She’s uh, she’s agreed to listen in on speakerphone. Once we’re all together, she said.”

“Wow, _Beverly Marsh_ …” Mike smiles, eyes lit up with momentary excitement. “How is she doing?”

“Good. Real good.” Ben blushes sightly. “She sounded happy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Silence falls between them for a moment. Ben thinks about Bev, about the way she sounded happy but not too happy, and how her excitement was almost all-consuming when he’d told her the Losers were going to team up again for a while. He tried to ignore the way her voice sank when she realised they hadn’t remained a team when she left. He’d also ignored the questions she’d asked about everyone, and why the meeting was so important. He couldn’t bring himself to say. If he’d told her they thought It was back… there’s no way she’d have agreed to join. Blood oath or not, Bev has always known not to spoil good things while she’d had them. Ben leaves the kitchen light on, lying down on the other couch after whispering a brief, “goodnight,” to Mike.

Mike told Ben, “goodnight,” too before turning over and sighing. He thinks about Stan upstairs, who hadn’t spoken to anyone but his father and Mike for five years, and who still has nightmares explicit enough to rival even Richie. He thinks of the good folk back on his farm, working hard to cover the work Mike isn’t doing while he’s helping his friends, pretending that they aren’t even a little upset to have to be working over the Christmas season. Mike hopes their families get the letters soon, letters which tell them the address so they can all stay up there together. Mike’s mind wanders once more, and he rolls over after a breath.

“Ben?” He whispers, listening as the other guy stirs.

“Yeah?”

“Have you, uh… have you spoken to Eddie yet?”

Ben licks at his chapped lips, wishing now more than ever that’d he’d pretended to be asleep. “… no, no I- I haven’t.”

Maybe he’s scared. Maybe he’s unsure. Whatever the case, Mike understands, but even still, he would do anything for his friends. Even if the whole town thought they were crazy. After all, they’d defied all odds and faced their biggest fears without so much as a few injuries. If Eddie was crazy just for not wanting to be here anymore, then they were all crazy.

Mike blinks slowly, nerves settling in his stomach like weights. “Will you?”

“I don’t… know.” Ben suddenly feels hot. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“We’re not the Losers club if we’re not all here, Ben.” Mike faces away from Ben once more, biting his nails. “But… I understand why you’re hesitant. Maybe it- maybe it is for the best that he isn’t here. At least, not now anyway.”

Ben swallows. “We both know you’re only saying that to make me feel less shitty about not calling him Mike.”

Mike huffs through his teeth. “True, but it’s nothing to dwell on now. I just think putting off the inevitable is going to make it worse in the long run. We both know he- we both know he’s not in a good place. We’d be the worst friends in the world if we didn’t at least mention this whole thing. I used to see him every other day at the pharmacist, but I haven’t seen him there for weeks now.”

“That’s because he’s not allowed within a mile of the damn place, Mike! When you binge on half the stock in a drug store you’re not exactly welcome back.”

“That was ages ago, Ben! And he stayed away for his own benefit.”

Ben scoffs. “He’s been living in the woods for the past fucking year, Mike. He’s staying away because he’s probably covered in disease the old Eddie could have only dreamed of. We’re all suffering, just because he’s taking it to the extreme doesn’t mean we have to discredit everyone else’s suffering.”

Mike rolls his eyes, and his words are venomous. “You mean your suffering? Taking all of this on and pretending like you’re a saint when you know just as much as all of us that you’re to blame for this too?”

Both of them grow quiet, words left unsaid hanging in the air like inmates in the gallows as the stink of sewage wafts in through the open window of the lounge room. Mike sits up to close it before lying down on his back and staring up at the ceiling, praying to god that what they think is happening isn’t really happening. But deep down, they all know it is.

They’d been played from the start.

 

* * *

 

**212 Main Street, Derry**

**9:10am**

 

**December 1994**

 

 

Her voice is calm, soothing in it’s supposed gentle nature. “You’ve got some paper and some questions with you. I’d like you to answer as honestly as possible, digging into as many memories as you can that might be related to your… feelings. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. I’d like to see where you’re at.”

“Two weeks isn’t a long time.” Eddie glares at the lady, the psychologist. “You want me to write down something I’m only going to have to read aloud anyway, why even bother with it.”

“You want to just say it then?” She asks, her patience seemingly unbreakable after years of experience.

Eddie scoffs, his arms crossed tight over his chest. “No, I don’t want to say it. I don’t even want to be here, and you know that. I don’t need to be here. It wasn’t a- I wasn’t trying to kill myself, it was self-defense so that she-demon wouldn’t just shove them down my damn throat anyway.”

“Yes, that’s what happened the most recent time.” Dr. Hall purses her lips, almost challenging, but sits back in her chair in a resided manner. “Let’s talk about this so-called ‘she-demon.’ Your mother, correct?” Eddie nods, albeit begrudgingly. “What’s causing you to feel this way about her? It’s definitely not a normal relationship if a child is referring to their parent as a demon.”

“Look, I don’t know what you wanna hear. I wasn’t orally deprived as a child, and I don’t have any deep subconscious thoughts I’m trying to repress. She’s always taken good care of me, maybe too good, but her overprotectiveness cost me my friendships, my reputation, and my damn self. She’s been shoving me full of medications since before I could walk, and not only that, I’ve been told how to feel and how to think all my life, and if I don’t think the way she wants me to then she just ups my dosage.” Eddie sighs, never meeting the eyes of Dr. Hall. “It’s not that hard to understand. It’s a vicious cycle, and sitting here talking to you about how I feel about my family and my friends isn’t going to change anything that’s already happened. The damage is done, that’s it. Gone… _forever_.”

A moment of thought passes between them, Eddie believing he has said too much and Dr. Hall knowing he isn’t saying enough. Dr. Hall places her clipboard gently on her crossed knees, daring to look up at him once more. “Eddie…” She must be cautious, tentative. He’s a live-wire on a hairline trigger. “What is ‘gone,’ exactly? Your relationships?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, a little too fast. “It’s nothing.”

They both drop the subject, Dr. Hall having prior knowledge of Eddie’s temperament and understanding of his current situation in great detail.

She clears her throat. “Did you want to tell me anything about your trip next week? Your mother mentioned to me she’s sending you away to a camp out in the mountains for a month or so. How’re you feeling about that?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Shit.”

“You’re not looking forward to it? I’d try and think of it as a way of clearing your head and appreciating the simple things. Fresh air and companionship can do wonders for the mind, even when it’s not fairing all that well.”

“First you’re thinking rehab, now you’re saying a conversion camp is the best place for me.” Eddie’s eyes are challenging, his words thick with venom. “What is it about you big-wig corporation nuts that think grouping a bunch of suicidal teens in the same place is a good idea, huh? And what about sending a group of gay kids up to the mountains for a month? Isn’t that a little counteractive? I’d go as far as to say, Dr. Hall, that you have no idea what you’re talking about, and that you’re only recommending things to me that my psychotic mother has paid you to say. Am I wrong?”

Dr. Hall is speechless, and when he doesn’t receive a verbal answer, Eddie knows he’s got exactly what he needed to hear.

“Can we finish early? I have another appointment in fifteen minutes.”

“Sure.”

Dr. Hall excuses Eddie and he leaves the camphor-scented room behind him, the door shutting with threatening force. Sonia is waiting outside in the car for her son and hurries around to the passenger side to let him in. He doesn’t say ‘thank you.’ He barely acknowledges her. She worries her lower lip as the engine kicks to life. “So, how was it today sweetie?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“That’s what I said.”

He’s not being difficult, he’s just hurt. Sonia has to remind herself of this before she goes to berate him. After all, he’s only been home for two months now. He could very well leave at any time and she’d be powerless to stop him. Although small, he’s incredibly strong, and he’s not living for anyone but himself now. If anyone can call what he’s doing ‘living.’

“I’m not going home right now,” Eddie says, his voice lacking any clear expression.

Sonia swallows, fear rising like bile in her throat. “Where did you want to go then, Eddie-bear?”

 

* * *

 

**3 Centre Street, Derry**

**12:01pm**

 

**December 1994**

 

 

There’s a strange feeling in the air, one that can’t quite be described. It’s as if memories and fondness of olden days are filtering in as they breathe the same air as one another, laughing and talking and pretending like everything is okay, even for just a moment. Even Bev laughs over speakerphone as Bill recounts a story from Juniper Hill about a nurse who accidentally tranquillised himself. He was chasing down an older patient who had stripped naked and was running down the hallway into the common room her shit in a bag as a ‘peaceful protest’ against her change in medication.

“It w-w-was the f-funniest thing I’d seen in mm-months,” He said, tears pricking at his eyes as they all came down from the high. “I w-wish you guys could have b-been there.”

It’s as if they’d always been together, never separated. But it was always like that when they met again. Once the subconscious veil was removed from their minds, and they remembered one another, it was as if they had been living from the same blood supply. All of them, the Losers, a part of one single being separated into seven separate bodies. That is the only way their connection could be described; it is so strong that even when there are only four of them present in the room, it resonates like a bell-tower chime in an empty city.

“So what are you doing these days, Bev?” Mike asks, a desperate attempt to keep Ben from starting the conversation intended for the moment. “Besides the boyfriend and the aunt.”

Bev chuckles, her voice husky and grainy through the phone. “Not a lot. I’ve got a job answering calls at a repair store for clothes and shoes and stuff. Doesn’t pay a lot but I like it. We’ve got a dog now too, her name’s Lily.”

They continue an idle conversation for a while, willingly avoiding the topic of the whereabouts of Eddie and desperately trying not to bring up Richie. But they all know Bev wants to ask. They all kind of want to ask, even if they won’t get a response. But the doorbell chimes as things go quiet, and when Ben opens the door and lets out a surprised, “Oh, Eddie,” things begin to change.

Bill and Stan mumble to one another about Eddie not having been around for a while, while Mike wonders how Eddie knew they were meeting if he and Ben had somewhat decided it was best that he wasn’t involved at this stage. Bev clears her throat through over the phone.

“Eddie? He wasn’t here the whole time?” She asks, unaware that Ben and Eddie are still at the front door and cannot hear her. “Someone answer me, why wasn’t he there the whole time? He’s never late for anything.”

Stan and Mike exchange a look while Bill attempts to cover, slightly confused himself. “He had an ap-ap-p-pointment,” think Denbrough think where would he go, “at the dentist. Sonia’s orders, you know how she is.” He attempts a chuckle, but Bev doesn’t buy it.

“A dentist appointment, huh. We all know the dentist isn’t open on Sunday’s, Bill. Why are you lying?” After a moment of silence, Bev slams down on something with brute strength. “Goddamn it! Stop lying to me! Will somebody tell me what the fuck is going on!?”

“Eddie no-“

Eddie shoves Ben aside and scrambles to get to the phone, seething with rage. “Richie’s been missing for a fucking year and kids are disappearing again, that’s what’s happening Beverly. Bill was in a psychiatric ward for three months, Mike and Ben pissed off and wouldn’t speak to us, Stan tried to kill himself, and I went completely off the fucking rails. And Richie? Before he fucked off he was shunned from society from being messed up over that clown, kicked out of school, berated, abused, and practically left for dead by everyone here because he refused help and now he’s gone, he’s fucking gone Bev-“

“That’s enough Eddie!” Mike shouts, prying Eddie away from the phone as he starts to sob. “Nobody needs this now-“

“This!? You mean the situation, or me Mike? Huh?” Eddie shoves him off, backing away to the wall. “Are any of you going to answer me or are you all satisfied gawking like a bunch of goldfish!?”

Bev draws in a sharp breath. “Eddie… I-“

“Save it!” His words are harsh, laced with poison. “We’ve all been too fucking busy with our own problems to realise that others were suffering too, myself included. But to shut me out while you guys try and save the world all on your own? It’s bullshit. So while you’re all sitting on your asses pretending that you are all so much bigger and better than the nightmare we’ve been facing for over five years, I’m going out to search for the only one of us who was a friend through and through, and would have rather suffered than see other suffer. And he did. He did suffer. And we did nothing about it.”

Cries of Eddie’s name resonate throughout the living room and soon the street as Eddie storms away on foot, leaving the other Losers behind him. He’s no longer crying. He is just angry.

One year, twenty-three days, two hours, and eighteen minutes. That is how long Richie Tozier has been missing from Derry. And if that’s what it takes, that is how long Eddie Kaspbrak will search for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of this as the ending of a beginning, and I look forward to seeing you all over in Part Two! That's where the loose ends are all tied up (hopefully) and we'll see more of what is really going on in Derry. Thanks for going with me on this journey, and I really hope you all continue with me.
> 
> Peace out.


End file.
